Maybe One Day
by Azaiya
Summary: Joey and Pacey's family gets hit hard when tragedy strikes
1. Default Chapter

Maybe One Day 

Maybe One Day . . . Tragedy can either bring families closer . . . or tear them apart . . .

_ _

_Chapter One_

The crash woke Joey out of her much needed sleep. She opened her eyes and sighed heavily, wearily beginning to sit up.

"I got it." A groggy voice said beside her. Joey gave her husband a thankful, sleepy smile and fell back against the pillows. He padded out of the room. She closed her eyes and was falling back to sleep when she heard Pacey yelling.

"I'm giving you to the count of three to come out and clean this mess up! One! . . . Two! . . ."

Apparently, the little monsters showed themselves, because once again there was silence. But Joey was already awake. She sighed and glanced at the clock. Nine-thirty.

Just one Saturday, she would like to sleep until noon.

Resignedly, Joey threw back the covers and went to the bathroom. She took her time in brushing her teeth, washing her face, and combing her hair before seeing what new destruction the kids caused their room. She leaned against the doorway and watched Casey and Joseph clean up their assortment of toys while Pacey stood in the middle of the room overseeing them. Aliya was still sleeping peacefully in her little bed. The three-year-old was sick, and the medicine she had been on for the past two days had her sleeping like a rock.

Apparently, four-year-old Casey had convinced Joseph, who was a year older, into playing Tornado. Tornado was an original game, which consisted of them piling all of their blocks into the plastic milk crate that held their shoes, climbing on to the dresser, and dumping them all over the floor.

"Did you two have fun?" Joey asked, walking into the room. The kids looked up at her in surprise. Guilt was written all over their little faces.

"It was L.J." Casey spoke up.

Little Joey looked outraged. "No it wasn't!" He shouted at his little sister, his serious light gray eyes flashing with indignation. He turned to his mother and shook his head vehemently. "It wasn't me, Mommy! It was Casey!"

Biting back a smile, Joey reached out and stroked his dirty blond hair. "Calm down, Joe." She said soothingly.

Pacey stared hard at his daughter. "Casey . . . what did I say about telling stories?" He asked, folding his arms across his chest.

Casey's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, Daddy." She whispered, perfectly contrite. Pacey struggled to keep his face stern. Casey looked like a miniature version of Joey. The long, wavy dark brown hair, the expressive face, the full lips, the cute nose, and the downward tilting shape of her eyes mirrored her mother's when she was that age.

The only differences were that her personality mimicked Pacey's, and her eyes were yellow. A bright golden yellow outlined with a circle of dark green, swimming with green and blue flecks that sparkled in the sunlight. Casey was born with blue eyes, and they began to change color when she was two. Curiousity had spurred Joey to dig up pictures of her family, and she'd found out that her mom's grandmother had eyes the same color.

Seeing Pacey begin to crumble, Joey spoke up. "You both are in trouble. Since you obviously don't know how to respect your toys, we're taking them away for a week."

L.J., who was the spitting image of Pacey at five-years-old, right down to the wavy dirty blond hair that would eventually grow darker, looked as if he was going to argue. "No," Joey said before her son could speak up. "It doesn't matter whose idea it was. You were both in here, and you both did it, or didn't do anything to stop it. And that's that."

Casey pouted and L.J. glared at her. "Finish cleaning up, Casey, and come down to breakfast." Joey said, heading to the kitchen to prepare it.

"Him too!" Casey said, pointing to L.J.

"Make sure you help her, L.J." Joey called over her shoulder. Pacey went to the bathroom and washed up before going down to the kitchen. Joey was leaning against the counter, perusing the _Weekend In New York_ section of the _NY Daily News_. She looked up when he came in and rolled her eyes at him, straightening up.

"That girl has you wrapped around her little finger," Joey said, referring to their daughter, putting the newspaper aside. Pacey smiled sheepishly and walked over to her. He slid his arms around her waist.

"That's just because she happens to look like someone I'm madly in love with." He said smoothly, kissing her sweetly. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and hungrily returned it, Pacey tightened his arms around her and deepened the kiss. As their desire quickly intensified, Pacey reluctantly broke away before he gave in to temptation and propped her up on the counter and took her right there. Breathing heavily, he gazed at her face, the longing in her eyes mirroring his own. It was their unquenchable passion for each other that made them parents of three children when they were only twenty-five. Casey and Aliya were barely ten months apart.

"You know what I think?" Pacey mused. "I think the kids miss their Aunt Bessie. I think they need to visit her again."

Trying to hide her smile, Joey pressed her lips together and nodded. "You know, I think you're right." She agreed.

He moved his hands to her hips and pulled her closer against his growing arousal. "Can we send them tonight?" He asked, lowering his mouth to hers and kissing it gently.

"I'll call her after breakfast." Joey said, kissing him one last time and moving away from his arms. She turned her attention to the stove, where bacon was sizzling, water was in a kettle boiling, and a pancake was on its way to being burnt.

Joey quickly flipped the pancake, turned the bacon, and tossed Pacey a Look over her shoulder. "What?" He asked innocently.

"You almost made me burn breakfast." She said accusingly.

"Hey, you know you can't resist me." He replied, reaching around her and moving the kettle off of the stove.

"You want to put your money where your mouth is, Witter?" She challenged, raising her eyebrow.

"What? You want to see who could do without the nookie longer?" He asked. When Joey rolled her eyes and then nodded, he shook his head. "Hell no, not me. What's the point of sending the kids to Bessie's then? I want one full torrid night of making love to you, without having to keep as quiet as possible so the kids won't wake up."

Joey smiled and removed the pancake from the pan. "Yeah," she teased. "I miss the way you would scream my name."

Pacey raised his eyebrows. "The way _I_ would scream _your_ name? Um, as I can recall the events of two nights ago, weren't _you_ the one who couldn't—"

Casey burst into the kitchen, followed by L.J., who was chasing after her. Pacey and Joey glanced at each other in surprise. They hadn't heard them storm down the steps. "Hey, hey, stop it!" Pacey said loudly. He caught L.J. by scooping him up with his left arm. Casey hid behind Joey's legs.

"What's the problem?" Pacey asked L.J, sitting him on the counter Joey had been leaning against. Joey took Casey's wrist and pulled her up from behind her.

"Can you watch the food? I'm going to go check on the baby." She told Pacey, handing Casey over to him. Pacey nodded and picked Casey up and sat the island counter in the middle of the kitchen. He pulled a stool away from the island and positioned it between the two kids. Crossing his arms, he perched upon it. "What happened?"

As Casey and L.J. both began talking at once, Joey climbed the stairs to the kids' room. Aliya was lying on her back in the middle of her small bed, her hazel eyes half-closed with slumber. When she saw Joey, a smile slowly spread across her face. The child was absolutely angelic. Her huge round eyes dominated her chubby little face, and her lips were full and pouty. Her little button nose was slightly red with cold, and her hair was silky, wavy, and almost black. Aliya unsteadily sat up and reached out her little arms for her mother. As Aliya had taken to falling out of bed while she was sleeping, there were chairs surrounding her bed; and Joey moved them aside before she lifted her up and hugged her.

"Poor baby," Joey crooned. "Feel better, sweetie? Do you feel better?"

Feeling Aliya's forehead, Joey found that the fever had gone down. She reached under the collar of Aliya's pink, footed sleeper and felt her skin. It was no longer hot. "Good," she said, satisfied. "Mommy was getting worried."

"Wah-wad?" Aliya asked sleepily.

"Yes, worried."

"Dada wah-wad?" She asked.

Carrying her out of the room, Joey nodded. "Yes, Daddy was worried too. We didn't want our sweet little baby girl to be sick."

Casey and L.J. were sitting quietly at the table when she reached the kitchen, eating their breakfast of bacon and pancakes. Pacey was scrambling eggs, which neither he nor the kids liked, but he knew Joey liked them, and for some reason, he knew how to make them really good.

"There's my baby girl." Pacey said, when he saw Aliya. He set aside the spatula he was holding and took her from Joey. He kissed the child's forehead. "How's my cute little princess? Is my cutie feeling better?"

Joey glanced at Casey. She was often jealous of any attention Pacey showered on Aliya, but she was too caught up her misery to care. Pacey probably extended the length of their toy-free punishment.

"Her temperature is down." Joey said, getting down a mug and fixing a cup of instant coffee. Pacey nodded and switched Aliya to his right arm, leaving his left arm free to finish the eggs. Aliya rested her head on Pacey's shoulder and stuck her thumb into her mouth.

"Liya's gonna get stomach dadiyadis 'cause her thumb's in her mouth, Daddy." Casey spoke up. Stomach dadiyadis was a disease Pacey had invented to keep Casey from sucking her thumb. It worked on her, but it wasn't working for Aliya. Pacey pulled the thumb out of her mouth, and told her to stop it.

The phone rang. Joey answered it. It was Bessie.

"Hey, Bess," Joey said. Pacey looked up when he heard the name and Joey winked at him. "I was just about to call you."

"Good. Look, I know this is short notice and all, but were you guys planning on doing anything with the kids this weekend?" Bessie asked. Joey glanced at the newspaper she had been reading. She was looking for an activity for them to do, but hadn't come across anything.

"Nope. Why, what do you have in mind?"

Bessie sighed. She sounded a bit preoccupied. "You know my friend Mercedes, right? Well, she decided this morning that she wanted to throw a huge birthday party for her son Marco tomorrow, so she needs party games, supplies, food, and guests."

"What are you doing?"

"This minute? Trying to make invitations that she's going to give out to all his little friends in the neighborhood, and then she's going to make calls to see if any of her friends will come. Then we're going to go to the party supply store. Later, we're cooking here, then taking the stuff to her house."

"Why don't you just cook at her place?"

"Because it's a surprise party and Marco is there with his father."

"Why is she doing this _now_?"

"So short notice? 'Cause she's a moron," Bessie said bluntly. "So can I have the kids to help me out? They've played with the kids in the neighborhood before, and I have a bunch of other things to do today. Bodie's taking Alex on a guys-day-out tomorrow, so they won't be around then. I figure they can help me, spend the night and go to the party tomorrow. It starts at ten and is over at two, and we'll come back to my house after."

Joey was getting ready to say no, because the kids were acting up lately and didn't deserve to go to a party, but then she realized that it would be perfect. "Sure, they can go. But Aliya's a little sick, I don't know if I want her out of the house." Joey said reluctantly. Pacey caught her eye and nodded vigorously, looking at her pleadingly. An evening alone with her would be amazing.

"Relax, Jo." Bessie said easily. "Alex can watch her today. He's staying home and working on some term paper that's due on June 16th, which is _Monday_," she stressed, "which he had all month to do. You know how good he is with kids."

Joey nodded. "Okay. I'll bring them over . . . when?"

"A.S.A.P."

"As soon as possible, got it."

They hung up and Joey grinned at Pacey. He grinned back. A weekend alone with the man she adored would be wonderful. They quickly ate breakfast, and Pacey washed the dishes while Joey got herself and the kids ready. 

L.J. knocked on the door while Pacey was in at the sink, gargling mouthwash after brushing his teeth, his hair wet from his shower, his towel wrapped around his waist. Pacey opened the door and L.J. entered, smiling at him. "What's up, kiddo?" Pacey asked, grinning at him. L.J. shrugged, put down the toilet lid, and sat on it, staring up at him.

"Can I shave with you?" L.J. asked. "Mommy's doing Casey and Aliya's hair."

"Of course," Pacey said. "You know we dashing Witter men have to keep our handsome faces clean and smooth for the ladies."

L.J. giggled, and Pacey told him to go get a plastic spoon from the kitchen. He ran to do it, and when he returned, Pacey propped him up on the bathroom counter and spread shaving cream on the lower half of his face. He put some on his own and picked up the razor. "Watch me." Pacey said.

Enthralled, L.J. watched what Pacey was doing, before copying his movements. It was a tender, sloppy experience, and when Joey came in and saw the two of them, she decided not to be annoyed that L.J. had gotten water all over his shirt.

When Pacey was ready and L.J. was changed, they all piled into the car and drove to Bessie's house. Seeing how much chaos Mercedes was causing to make sure everything was perfect for Marco's tenth birthday party, Joey and Pacey decided to stay and help out. They stayed until late that afternoon, whereupon Joey and Pacey left, anxious to be alone.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Chapter Two 

Pacey had surprised her. Instead of having a romantic dinner in their favorite cozy restaurant, accompanied by candles and roses and champagne, which she expected, Pacey informed her to put on her dancing shoes, because they were going to a club of his choice.

"But Pace, we're too old to go to a club." She'd protested, picking up her favorite evening dress off of the bed. Pacey gave her an incredulous look and crossed his arms over his chest, sitting down on the edge of their bed.

"I don't think so, sister. If I'm mistaken, who was the first one on the dance floor at Jeff's New Years Eve party?"

Joey rolled her eyes at him. "Come _on_, Pace. How long ago was that?" She asked, nevertheless going over to the closet to reluctantly put the dress back.

"Last year. Now stop it with the ancient routine, you're just acting like a lazy old bag. You're twenty-five for God's sake. You shed that Queen of Prudence image long before I knocked you up."

She rolled her eyes at his vulgar choice of words and glanced at him. "Fine," she said, shrugging, rising to the very subtle challenge. "You're in for one hell of a night then, Witter."

Joey put on her proverbial little red dress with spaghetti straps, put on make-up, and did her hair, leaving it loose and curly. Pacey dressed in a pair of black slacks, and a short-sleeved, black, V-neck shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and firm muscles. They made an attractive couple; they looked like happily in love college students, out on a night on the town.

Joey promised him he was in for one hell of a night, and that's what he got. They took a cab to _Nightcrawler_, an extremely popular nightspot that he used bartend at during college before he found a better paying job, before the club got big. They walked past the long line and right through the front, pausing the chat briefly with Robbie, the bouncer they both knew and liked. Pacey had called beforehand, and reserved a V.I.P. table overlooking the dance floor. They had a sloppy, spicy dinner of chopped barbeque, French fries, and Buffalo wings with blue cheese dressing. After eating, they immediately hit the dance floor and danced until the club closed at three a.m., and then they took another cab all the way to _Millennium_, a combination club and pool hall they'd loved when they were younger.

There, they drank beers, ate cheese fries, kissed, and played a few games of pool and danced some more. At five-thirty, they took yet another cab home. Pacey unlocked the door, and swept Joey into his arms, carrying her over the threshold. They quickly proceeded to the bedroom where they made loud, wildly passionate love three consecutive times before resting and doing it once more, slower, longer and more tenderly. Wiped out, they finally fell asleep at ten to nine and slept for ten hours straight.

Their slumber was interrupted when Bessie called and wondered if they were planning on sending the kids to their respective nursery, pre-school, and kindergarten classes tomorrow, because they should be at home, eating, bathing, and getting ready for bed. Casey really needed her rest, Bessie stressed, because sweet little Casey had recently decided to explore her curiousity concerning Bessie's kitchen appliances, Alex's videogames and how they interacted with various foodstuffs and mud cleverly made with the dirt from Bodie's garden and the water hose. It was an interesting experiment for a child of four to undertake, however not necessarily meticulously calculated. While her little experiment was pretty bad, Bessie decided to not even begin to describe the countless other mind-boggling endeavors Casey had pursued over the last thirty or so hours. Remembering and reliving them gave her migraines, Bessie said, and she'd run out of aspirin that weekend.

In short, Casey was acting like Rosemary's Baby and needed to be sent home immediately.

Joey and Pacey reluctantly got up and showered. Their carefree fun night was over, but they agreed that although Casey was naturally mischievous, lately she'd been getting out of hand; and they had to get her out of this phase she was going through so Bessie would watch her again, subsequently enabling them to have many more unforgettable nights.

Bessie hung up the phone and glared at her little niece. She was muddy, dripping wet, and standing in the middle of the kitchen floor, looking down at her filthy sneakers.

"Look at me." Bessie ordered. Casey raised her contrite golden eyes up to Bessie's angry blue ones. "You are going to get in major trouble for your behavior this weekend," Bessie promised, moving Aliya to her other arm. "_Major _trouble, young lady."

Tears filled Casey's eyes, but unlike Pacey, Bessie was immune. "I'm going to run a bath, and you stand in this spot until the tub's full. Got it?"

Casey nodded, wide-eyed and chewing on her bottom lip. Bessie left the kitchen with Casey's little sister. A moment later, her brother poked his head into the doorway and looked around before entering. He was carrying his big blue rubber ball. He stood in front of his sister and bounced it.

"You're gonna be in really big trouble when Mommy and Daddy comes." He said, feeling sorry for her. Even though she really made him mad sometimes, he adored her.

"I know." She whispered.

"I _told_ you not to do that. You're a real dummy sometimes, Case. You never listen to me, and you always get in trouble." He scolded her with more pity than malice.

"I'm really sorry I did it. I jus' really wanted to try it."

"No you didn't. You just want Daddy to play with you more than he does with Aliya." L.J. disagreed.

"That's not true!" Casey protested.

"Yes it is, too." He said confidently. Casey sighed and crossed her arms, glaring at the ground, saying nothing else. L.J. looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. She was going to get in trouble, and she was sad. He didn't like it when she was sad. "You want some candy?" L.J. asked suddenly.

Casey looked up and grinned. "Yes," she looked confused. "Where? All the candy from Marco's bin-dada is all gone."

L.J. nodded. "I know. But I got the bag with the money in it, 'member?" he asked, putting his ball under one arm, digging into the pocket of his jeans, and producing a handful of money. "Look, I have a dollar, two ten cents, one nickel, an' three twenty-five cents."

"Wow. How much is that together?"

"I dunno," he said honestly, putting it back into his pocket. "But I can get a lot of candy from the store with it."

Casey shook her head. "No, Joe Joe, you'll get in trouble."

L.J. grinned. "Not if I go really fast. And if I do get in trouble, at least you won't be in trouble by yourself. And we'll have candy, too."

She grinned lovingly at him. "You're my absolute bestest favorite brother in the whole wide world."

L.J.'s grin widened. "You're my absolute favorite best brother in the whole wide world too." He teased.

"I'm not a boy!" Casey opposed, laughing.

"Yes you are." He insisted playfully, leaving the kitchen, smiling wickedly. It was fun not to be a good boy all of the time. A tiny part of him hoped he would get in trouble.

Outside, Jamie McNamara from across the street was waiting for him. He'd called L.J. out of his window a few minutes ago, and told him that he was coming out to play with him. L.J. had run inside as soon as Jamie went back in to get ready. L.J. hated him. The only reason why he played with him was because his cousin Alex liked Jamie's sister Briana, and every time L.J. came over, Alex gave him a dollar to distract Jamie so he could talk to Briana without Jamie getting in the way.

Little did Alex know that Jamie found out somehow and threatened to beat him up if he didn't get fifty cents of that dollar. Little did L.J. know that Jamie genuinely liked him and wanted to be sure that he would still play with him, and threatening him was the only way Jamie knew how. Usually L.J. wouldn't allow himself to be bullied, but Jamie was a second grader, and he was only in kindergarten. Plus, Jamie had a crush on Casey, which L.J. didn't like at all.

"You didn't wait for me, punk." Jamie said accusingly, glaring at him. L.J. shrugged and looked back at the house to make sure no one was looking before he began walking to the right."Where do you think you're going?" Jamie asked. L.J. stopped and faced him.

"Look, if my Aunt Bessie comes out and looks for me, tell her I was using the bathroom at your house. If you do that, I'll give you some candy from the store." L.J. bargained quickly.

Jamie looked at him in surprise. "You're gonna go to the store by _yourself?_ I can't even do that."

"Me neither. But it's only two blocks down, big deal."

Jamie nodded thoughtfully. He wasn't about to let some kindergartener sneak away to the store before he did. "I'll go with you." Jamie decided. When L.J. began to object, he added, "If we get caught, we'll just say we were coming back from Ricky's house, looking at the new puppies."

Satisfied, he nodded. "Come on."

As they walked down the block, L.J. bounced his ball. Covetously, Jamie eyed it. "Lemme hold your ball." Jamie demanded, swiping for it. When L.J. pulled it out of his reach, Jamie glared. "If you don't let me hold it, I'll tell on you."

He didn't want to let Jamie hold it, but he couldn't waste time arguing and he wanted to get some candy for his sister. He handed the ball over, saying, "Only on the way there. I get to hold it on the way back, deal?"

"Deal." Jamie agreed.

L.J. began walking faster, his heart beating fast. He wanted to hurry up before he got caught. He began running. Jamie jogged along with him. They reached the store quickly. It was a mini-market on the corner, and there was a big truck parked in front of it. Two men were unloading boxes and carrying them into the store.

"See that van on the corner?" Jamie asked, pointing to a sleek black family parked on the corner adjacent to the truck. It was a really large van, and it blocked the view of the busy main street it was on.

"Yeah." L.J. said, not really caring.

"I'm gonna marry your sister, and I'm gonna get a car like that, and we'll drive around with our family."

L.J. made a face as they walked into the store. "That's stupid. Why don't you get a racecar? I'm gonna get a racecar when I get bigger. It's gonna look like a Hot Wheels car . . . And you're not gonna _touch_ my sister, Jamie, stop saying that," L.J. added as an afterthought, his protectiveness of his sister overriding any feelings of fear and intimidation of Jamie that he secretly harbored. "You're gonna be poor and weak and ugly and . . . and a stupid doody-head; and she's gonna marry someone who's rich and big and strong like my daddy."

Jamie ignored him.

L.J. walked up to the pay counter and looked up at the man behind it. He reached up on his tiptoes and put his money up on the counter. "How much candy can I get with this, mister?"

The man raised his eyebrows. "It depends," he said. "Start telling me what candy you want and how much of it, and I'll tell you when you've spent all of it."

L.J. nodded and looked at the rows of candy. "I'm bored, I'm gonna play with the ball outside." Jamie said. L.J. wanted to say no, but he knew that with Jamie outside, he would be able to concentrate better.

"Okay." He said to Jamie. L.J. bought sour gummy worms, peach flavored sour gummy rings, five caramels, five Swedish fish, a watermelon Bubblicious and a Juicy Fruit. He thanked the man and went outside. Jamie was standing a little down the block, almost past the truck.

"Watch this." Jamie said, slamming the ball on to the ground. It flew high into the air and he caught it.

"Don't _do_ that." L.J. said in alarm, storming over to him. Jamie knew that the ball was filled up with compressed air, and although the walls were firm, it could be easily busted with a sharp rock. Jamie ignored him and did it again. But when it flew into the air, it bounced off the truck's engine hood, and flew into the street.

"Look what you did, you fucking shit asshole!" L.J. shrieked angrily. He didn't know what it meant, but his parents only said the words when they were very angry and got mad if he or his sisters said it; yet, not caring that Jamie would probably tell on him, L.J ran out after the ball.

Casey sat in her bath, taking as long as she could so Aunt Bessie would have to stay watching her, unable to check on L.J. She slowly rubbed her arm with the soapy washcloth. Aliya was sitting on the bathroom rug, thumb in mouth, silently playing with Casey's rubber duckie. Her aunt sat on the edge of the tub, sighing in exasperation. She reached for the shampoo and began vigorously rubbing it in Casey's hair.

"Hurry up, your parents will be here soon." Bessie said.

Casey switched the washcloth to her other arm and began washing it slowly.

Harold Goldberg was late for work. He had the six-thirty to three-thirty shift at the twenty-four hour video rental store, and he knew that if he was late one more time he was going to be fired. If he was fired, his wife would kill him, his four kids would starve.He looked up at the traffic light ahead, and it was turning red. He speeded up and glanced down at the clock on his car radio. The glowing green numbers declared it was six twenty-two. Great. The store was still about ten minutes away. He slowed down and swung the steering wheel to turn the corner, barely missing the truck that was parked there. Moving his foot back to the accelerator, he glanced at the clock again. Six twenty-three.

Harold looked back out of the windshield, and a bright blue ball that was slowly rolling back towards the sidewalk took his attention. He was about to run it over. He began to swerve to avoid it, when a kid dashed out in to the street from in front of the truck. Startled, Harold slammed on the brakes.

L.J. was paralyzed with panic, his eyes wide, his expression terrified, and his body momentarily unable to process the sudden command his brain screamed at him.

From the sidewalk, Jamie yelled, "_Watch out!_" Still in shock over the bad words L.J. had said, Jamie was too late in his warning. Horrified, he could only watch the accident happen. The brown bag, which held treats for L.J.'s little sister sailed into the air, making a beautiful arc before landing with a soft thud that was barely heard over the screeching brakes, and the sickening thump as the life was viciously knocked out of his friend's little body. The image would remain in Jamie's mind for as long as he lived.

"You _have _to be firm with Casey, Pace." Joey told him. 

Pacey nodded. "I know . . . I just don't want to be too hard on her. She'll hate me."

Joey rolled her eyes. "She will _not_ hate you. Don't you see that all she's doing is begging for attention? She's still a bit jealous of Aliya. Especially now that she's sick and sucking her thumb, we give her a little more attention."

Pacey nodded again. There was an ambulance zooming past the intersection a few blocks ahead, and people were rushing across the street. "There must be an accident up there." He said, glancing at Joey. "I'll turn this corner and go around it."

"Isn't it a one-way?" Joey asked. She'd seen the ambulance, and was suddenly apprehensive.

"Nah." Pacey said, making a right. At the next block, he made another right, and drove down the street to Bessie's house. They pulled into the driveway and got out. After pressing the doorbell and waiting for a while, they realized that she was gone.

"Where the hell is she?" Joey wondered aloud, her anxiety growing. Pacey glanced down the block. He could see the flashing lights of an ambulance and two police cars in front of a store. He abruptly felt uneasy and wanted to get his kids so they could go home.

"I know this sounds horribly clichéd, but I can feel that something's wrong, Pacey," Joey said shakily. "I can _feel_ it."

They looked at each other and knew at the same time that it had to do with the accident up the block. Together, they took off down the street.

A policeman Casey didn't know was holding her. A policeman that was a girl was standing next to them, holding Aliya. While she sitting in the living room, trying to tie her sneakers, someone had knocked on Aunt Bessie's front door. She'd begun crying a lot, and then she grabbed Casey's hand, and rushed down the block, carrying Aliya. At first, when she saw the police, she thought that L.J. got caught and was going to go to jail, but then she remembered that kids don't go to jail, only bad men; and Aunt Bessie would be mad, not sad. 

She wanted to know what everyone was sad about. A lot of people were standing around, shaking their heads, and a few women were crying, including her Aunt Bessie, who was standing with a policeman, probably crying the loudest. She looked around and saw the boy across the street, Jamie, wrapped up in a blanket, sitting on the hood of the police car. He was crying too.

Her stomach hurt really badly, something was wrong.

She wondered where her brother was because she was beginning to get worried.

Some people were pushing the other people in the crowd, Casey saw. They were two tall people. It looked like her mommy and daddy. It _was_ her mommy and daddy. Uh oh. L.J. was in big trouble now, and it was all her fault.

Joey blindly pushed past the crowd. She'd heard her sister crying, and she knew that something had happened to one of her kids. She prayed fervently that they were okay.

Please God, let them be okay.

Reaching the front of the crowd, she saw why Bessie was crying. A little body was covered in a bloodstained sheet, and a familiar blue ball was lying a few feet away from it, dotted with blood.

No.

No, it wasn't her child.

It couldn't be her child.

A policeman tried to hold her back. She shoved him away from her. Pacey tried to hold her. She jerked out of his arms and rushed over to the body, tears already blinding her. She pulled back the bloody sheet.

Someone began screaming in agony.

It was she who was screaming.

And she couldn't stop.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Chapter Three 

Joey stared impassively at the tiny casket. Somewhere above her, someone was talking into a microphone, saying things about L.J. She wasn't listening to the person, nor did she know what she was talking about, but she knew that it was nice. Everyone said nice things at a funeral. She didn't want to hear what the people going up to the microphone had to say. She didn't care what they had to say. They had no _clue_ what she was going through. _She_ had no clue what she was going through. She was just . . . numb.

Unaware that the speaker had just said something about her, Joey was completely oblivious to the eyes that had turned to her. She continued to stare at the casket. Her baby boy was in there. She'd housed his body for the first nine months of his creation, she and Pacey put a roof over his head for the first four years of his natural born life, and now the casket was going to hold his inert body while his spirit went to Heaven for eternity.

And Joey was numb.

On her lap, Aliya was sleeping. She was still a little sick, and had taken medicine before they all dressed up to bid their final farewells. Next to her mother, Casey was sitting. She'd been informed that L.J. had gone to Heaven, and he wouldn't be coming back, only in her dreams and memories. Her mommy didn't know that she'd cried herself to sleep that night, and every night since then.

Pacey was crying too, sitting next to Casey. He'd taken it really hard, she knew. She'd held him in her arms while he cried in bed the first night; and the second. And she would probably do it again tonight.

Joey wasn't crying. She hadn't really cried yet. A few tears had slid down her face when she'd seen the accident, but that was it. She was shell-shocked.

She was quiet.

She was numb.

Pacey had softly touched her arm. She looked at him, dazed. It was time to go up to the coffin, he told her. She stood, giving Aliya to Bessie, and trudged up the red-carpeted steps to where her son was laying in his small chestnut, ivory satin lined coffin. She looked down into it.L.J. had his hands folded across his chest, his hair combed neatly and smoothly. His eyes were closed. He didn't move.

"He looks so peaceful . . . just like he's asleep." She heard someone near her say. 

Joey heard Pacey's sharp intake of breath. He was thinking the same thing she was. L.J. didn't sleep like that. He slept either all curled up, or all spread out, with his mouth hanging partly open, snoring lightly. He wasn't asleep . . . he was dead. Her child was dead. 

Her face must've gotten really sad, because she felt Pacey try to hug her, but she shoved him away with a burst of strength. 

No.

Her son wasn't dead. He _wasn't. _She would get him and take him home. He would be safe once she took him home.

Yes.

Yes, yes, yes.

She would take him home and everything . . . everything would be just fine. 

The thoughts ran through her mind in a few seconds, and as she was going to lift him from the casket, Pacey saw what she was doing and his strong hands grabbed her arms, pulling her back.

"Let me go," Joey said angrily. "I'm gonna take my kid home. Let me_ go_, damn it. _Let me go!_"

"He's gone, Jo." Pacey said gently. He wrapped his arms around her, and held her tight to him, keeping his haunted eyes on his son. She continued struggling for a moment, and then suddenly went limp. She gently dislodged herself from Pacey, and silently stared back down at L.J., as if she hadn't had a brief episode a few moments before.

"Something is wrong with Joey. Her son died, and she's not crying. She wasn't even crying the day he died." Joey heard someone whisper. She swallowed hard, and wondered if the woman was right, if something was wrong with her. 

She lifted her eyes and glanced listlessly at Pacey as he bent down, and kissed L.J.'s cheek. As he straightened up, he caught her eyes and she could see the look of pure anguish on his face. She wasn't surprised to see tears streaming down his face. She knew how much Pacey loved L.J.

She looked down into the coffin again. She knew that she was probably taking a long time standing there, not letting anyone pass, but she didn't care. It was _her _child . . . But she wasn't crying . . . 

Something _was_ wrong with her, like that woman said. Joey stared down at her baby boy. Joey reached out and stroked his hair. His soft dirty-blond hair.

_His hair was red with blood._

Joey squeezed her eyes shut and shoved away the memory of what she'd seen when she pulled away the sheet. She reopened her eyes and stared back at his face. His gray eyes were closed, his face looked at peace. 

His eyes were partly closed, lifeless, blood poured from a gash somewhere on his head.

Stop it.

Blood streamed down his face. Stained his little white 'Pokémon' t-shirt, his jeans.

Stop it!

Blood everywhere. On the grill of the car, in the street, on the ball, on her hands and clothes as she picked him up and held her to him. Screaming. Blood. Blood was everywhere.

Someone was touching her arm. She was screaming again. Screaming aloud. Screaming for the visions to stop. Just stop it. Stop it! _Go away! Stop it! Stop it!_

Oh God. She had to get out of there. 

She rushed down the steps. Casey was crying now. Bessie was crying. Bodie was standing up. People were staring after her. Staring, staring, everyone was staring.

Everywhere there was blood. There was blood everywhere.

She ran.

She ran until she was tired.

She began walking.

She walked until she was numb again.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Chapter Four 
    
    Sure I've been in love a time or two
    
    But in the end I still chose you.
    
    No one could ever make me feel this way.
    
    That's why it's killing me, what we're going through
    
    Somehow thought 'tween me and you
    
    Our love would stand the test of time
    
    and never ever fade . . . 
    
     
    
    But we're not making love no more
    
    We're not even trying to change
    
    Tell me how it slips away
    
    Does it ever stay the same
    
    We don't even talk no more
    
    We've ran out of words to say
    
    Tell me it don't have to change
    
    Won't it ever stay the same?
    
     
    
    Girl I know that things aren't going right
    
    But don't you think it deserves a fight
    
    A love like ours don't happen everyday
    
    And we're losing it right as we speak
    
    And if we don't wake up, it's a memory
    
    A time gone past, a love that sailed away
    
     
    
    But we're not making love no more
    
    We're not even trying to change
    
    Tell me how it slips away
    
    Does it ever stay the same
    
    We don't even talk no more
    
    We've ran out of words to say
    
    Tell me it don't have to change
    
    Won't it ever stay the same?
    
     

-"We're Not Making Love" by Dru Hill

Joey quietly let herself into the house. It was eerily silent. A box of unfinished pizza was sitting on the island countertop, and no one was in the living room. She walked down the hall to the den. Pacey was sitting on the couch, watching _Rugrats_, L.J.'s favorite show. They always used to watch it together, Pacey and L.J. The sound was on low, and L.J.'s blue ball was on the couch next to him.

"Pace?" Joey said quietly.

Pacey looked up at her dispassionately. He looked horrible. He hadn't shaved in the past two days, nor had he combed his hair or showered. He was still wearing the gray sweatpants and white t-shirt he'd been wearing since the night before. His eyes had a hard, cold look in them, but Joey had grown used to seeing it there. It'd been there for the past ten weeks, since the accident.

"I see you didn't go to work today." She said slowly. In the weeks that followed L.J.'s death, Pacey changed. He sat in the den or in their bedroom, watching television; he only got up to eat, shower, go to the bathroom, and change rooms. He never left the house unless they'd gotten into an argument, and then he would storm out and stay out for hours. Whenever he left the den or the bedroom, he said only a few monosyllabic words to her, Casey, and Aliya, but refused to talk to anyone else who visited, wrote or phoned. That was how he dealt with his grief.

Joey on the other hand, kept busy. During the week, she woke up early in the morning, took the kids to their Monday thru Saturday Day-Camp, and went to work. She stayed there until six, and made it to pick up the kids at seven. She fed and bathed them while working on the extra workload she'd taken on and brought home with her.

She spent the weekends cleaning the whole house. Once the house was spotless, she began cleaning out closets, repainting walls, and rearranging furniture, basically doing or fixing or cleaning anything she could find. She ate just enough to keep from starving, and drank only to keep from getting dehydrated. She did everything in her power to keep the girls amused, fed, and well rested. She refused to have any spare time to think of her son or her marriage, which was suddenly in limbo. But at night, when she climbed into bed next to Pacey, who kept his back to her, all she _had_ was time. So she squeezed her eyes shut, and thought of the things she needed to do the next day, until she fell into a restless, dreamless sleep.

As a result of their new lifestyles, Casey and Aliya both became withdrawn and quiet, Joey lost weight and was constantly pale and tired, and when they weren't arguing, Pacey's life was divided into three things, sleeping, eating, and watching television.

" . . . _Did_ you go to work?" Joey asked after a long silence.

"What do _you_ think, genius?" He asked dryly, keeping his eyes on television.

Joey closed her eyes briefly, trying to think of another way to approach him without being on the receiving end of one of the dry, mean-spirited comments he was starting to throw around regularly. He was always either sarcastic and snappish towards her, or unresponsive, dull and apathetic.

"Pacey, it's been weeks," she said hesitantly. "We can't afford for you to lose your job."

Pacey kept his eyes on the T.V. "I _told_ you I spoke to my boss already." He said slowly, as if she were an idiot.

"Yes, but how long ago was that?"

"I'll go soon, damn it, why don't you just shut up about it?" He said in irritation, tossing her a glare.

Joey struggled to keep her temper in check, trying not to say anything that would cause another one of their arguments. Every little thing seemed to turn into an argument lately. "Don't bite my head off, Pacey."

"Look, don't worry your pretty little head about it. If your scrawny ass was home instead of acting like L.J. never existed, you—"

"I can't believe what you just said!" Joey exclaimed angrily. "I'm trying to keep us from starving! I work my butt off all day, I cook, I clean, and you haven't been to work in weeks! You can't expect met to clothe, feed, and house all four of us!"

"Jesus, Joey, do you ever shut up?"

Ignoring her hurt, she sighed in exasperation. "Are you or are you not going to work tomorrow Pacey?"

"Don't worry about what I'm gonna do tomorrow. You want to know, then you stay home for a change." He said. He picked up the remote and turned the volume up on the television.

"You're being completely irrational, Pacey. Why don't you just tell me when you're planning on going back to work so I don't have to worry about finding a pink slip in the mail one day."

"Jesus Christ, stop nagging me!" Pacey exploded.

"Stop yelling!"

"I'll stop when you do!" He shouted childishly.

Joey took a deep breath and said nothing for a moment, trying to keep calm. She hesitated before trying to make amends. "I know you miss L.J., Pace. I miss him too, but we can't go on living like this. It's been months, and letting yourself waste away won't bring L.J. back." She said softly.

"What's the point in going on, Joey?" Pacey asked, his voice threaded with something akin to loathing when he said her name, and Joey winced when she heard it. "No one needs me here."

"The girls need you, Pacey . . . _I_ need you!" Joey admitted desperately.

He snorted. "There's more to life than fucking, Joey." He said, his voice filled with pure disgust.

"You know damn well that wasn't all I meant!" She shouted. She took a moment to calm herself again. "Why don't you get up, shave, take a hot shower, and we can all have dinner together like a family." She suggested gently.

"We aren't a goddamn family without my son!"

"He was my son too!" Joey said angrily. "I carried him for nine months, gave birth to him after fourteen painful hours, and I loved him more than life itself. Just as much as I love you and the girls. But just because he's gone doesn't mean that life ends. And you're not the only one who lost L.J., Pace. Casey, Aliya, and I lost him too, and we miss him just as much as you do. If you loved us Pacey, then our love would get us through this . . . tragedy . . ." She trailed off as she realized what he was doing.

"You're _clapping_?" Joey asked in disbelief.

"You got eyes don't you? That was damn beautiful, Jo. You should be on stage 'cause it was so beautiful. I'm crying. Tears are just pouring out of my eyes." He said sarcastically, he clapped some more, and even whistled. Joey's mouth dropped open.

"How _dare _you even _suggest _. . ." She began indignantly.

"Shut up!" Pacey shouted. "Shut-up! Shut-up! Shut-up!"

Upstairs, Casey closed her door and turned up the volume on the Disney movie. "Mommy and Daddy are not fighting, Aliya," Casey said to her sister, who was staring at the door in alarm. "They're just talking loud because Daddy has the T.V. up really loud like we do."

Aliya looked at her sister and returned her gaze to the movie. Casey swallowed hard and stood up. "Come on, Aliya," she said cheerfully, holding out her hands to her sister. "Let's dance to this song. I love this song."

Loudly, Casey began singing. ". . . _Hakuna matata, what a won-der-ful phrase. Hakuna matata, ain't no passin' craze. It's our problem-free philosophy, hakuna matata . . ._"

Over the music, she heard her parents' yelling get louder, followed by the sound of someone slamming the door. She knew it was her Daddy. He always left after they screamed at each other.

"Sing louder, Aliya!" Casey encouraged. "L.J. can hear you if you sing louder."

Aliya grinned, and did as she was told. Casey sang with her, trying to drown out the sound of her father's car peeling away from the street. "_It's our problem-free philosophy, hakuna matata . . ._"

Melanie Parker sat in front of the cash register, watching the door, wondering if the stranger would come in again that night. He'd come in every couple of nights, order a cup of coffee, and sit there for hours. He just sat there. Something about him made her want to know him, to stroke his dark hair and soften his cold gray eyes and closed-off face.

She heard a car pulling up to the diner. It was him. She knew it was him. A few moments later, he entered, the usual preoccupied, angry look on his tense face. He was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a dirty-looking white t-shirt. He took at seat at the end of the counter, as usual. Melanie looked down at herself to make sure there were no stains on her clothes before walking up to him and asking him if he wanted the usual cup of coffee.

Pacey nodded and rubbed his face with both hands, trying to ignore the feeling that he was completely ruining his life. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the feeling that he didn't really care. The waitress came over and placed his cup of coffee on his plate. He thanked her and wrapped his hands around the cup, staring down into the dark liquid, wondering if he could drown in it.

Pacey sighed and thought about the last fight he had with his wife. Things between them had never been so strained, and it all began when L.J. died. His hands tightened on the cup and struggled not to think of his son's death, knowing he wouldn't be able to stop himself. He doted on his little boy, proud because he was a smart kid, because he looked like him, because he had a good heart. He really did miss him, but what could he do? Nothing. There was absolutely nothing he could do about it, and that made him furious. The man who'd hit L.J. was in jail, so Pacey couldn't kill him. He couldn't kill himself, although he'd definitely entertained the thought in one of his more depressed states.

So instead, Pacey took out his anger on his conscience, hating himself and a couple others for various reasons with different levels of rationale. Hating himself for buying L.J. that ball, hating himself for wanting to send the kids away that weekend, hating himself for not being able to resist Joey, and although he knew it was wrong, he couldn't help but hate Joey for looking so irresistible, for going along with their 'weekend alone' plan, nor could he stop himself from hating Bessie for not watching L.J. 

And there was nothing he could do but sleep, watch T.V., get into fights with Joey, and come to this goddamn diner, and drink coffee, hating himself. Now that he'd done four of the six things, there was only one thing left. He sat there, and he drank his coffee, hating himself.

Joey sat on the couch Pacey had angrily vacated. Another fight. She was tired of fighting with him. She sat there for a long time, staring into space, waiting for her anger to be replaced with numbness. She sat there for about an hour. It was taking too long.

Joey climbed upstairs and checked on the girls, something she should've done the moment she walked in, or Pacey left, but she honestly hadn't thought of it. Aliya was sleeping against the wall on Casey's bed, Casey's body blocking her from the edge of the bed. They were curled together, Casey holding her sister tightly, sleeping soundly. Joey didn't have the heart to move Aliya from Casey's bed and into her own.

After watching them for a moment, Joey flipped off the lights and went down to her studio, but paused before going in. She hadn't been in there in months, she realized and she sighed. Her friend and boss Troy Morgan had been calling her recently, eager about showing her work in the gallery. They'd been talking about it before L.J. died, but he'd wisely stopped after learning about his death. Now that ten weeks had passed, he was dropping hints about it again. But for some reason, she couldn't draw anymore. It used to help her deal with things, but for some reason, it couldn't help her with this. She had to find something that could.

Standing by the door, Joey thought about what else could help her achieve her numb state; she was getting desperate. Arts and crafts weren't going to help, Pacey sure as hell wasn't helping, and annoyingly, her own ability to shove her emotions down wasn't working. She had to try something different. So she headed down to the kitchen. 

She and Pacey didn't drink much, unless they were going out, but they had at least one bottle of the usual available for company, vodka, rum, whisky, bourbon, cognac, gin and scotch. Not knowing which would give her the numbness she craved, not realizing how stupid it was to mix the liquor, Joey pulled out a glass and dribbled a little of each into it until the glass was half-full. Closed her eyes, she downed the mixture, surprised that it didn't burn her throat the way a regular shot of vodka would. She barely winced. Deciding that the liquor was just weak, she poured herself two more drinks like that and drank them down.

Her throat felt heavy. She went into the refrigerator and drank some apple juice from the container. Feeling better, she went back to the den and sat down. Quickly, Joey was taken to another place. She wanted to dance, but she didn't feel like getting up. She leaned her head back against the couch and let her mind do all the floating, the dancing. The room tilted and shifted, and then began to slowly spin, and Joey didn't care. She was numb again.

Joey had just dragged herself from the living room and settled into bed when Pacey finally showed himself. Tilting her head to the side, she focused on the glowing red numbers on the digital clock beside the bed. Three thirty-seven. She wondered where he'd been, but she didn't care to ask. She didn't want to start another fight, and she also didn't want him to know she'd been drinking. If he knew, not only would he start preaching to her, he would know that he drove her to drink, and that was the last thing her pride would want him to know.

Turning on her side, facing away from the bedroom doorway, Joey mutely ignored Pacey when he came in. She listened to the sound of him taking off his shoes, the rustling as he pulled the covers back, and then creak the springs made when he climbed into bed beside her.

Her head swam, and then suddenly felt heavy. She squeezed her eyes shut until it began swimming again with dizziness and nausea. She swallowed hard and tried to will herself to sleep. But she couldn't sleep, she was becoming too sick, and the tension was so heavy, and it hung over them like a thick blanket. Joey sighed sadly, suddenly feeling a wave of deep misery. Life was precious. So precious that in an instant, a horrible tragedy can completely throw everything off balance, everything that was so perfect, so complete, and so wonderful.

Then there was nothing but incredible emptiness and sadness. The kind of unbearable sadness could completely consume you if you weren't careful. That's where numbness came in. Feel nothing, lose nothing, and gain nothing. Subsequently, another kind of equilibrium was obtained. And Joey, whose life was filled with ups and downs, had relied on her family for that stability. Now that her family was suddenly going down the tubes, Joey planned to cling to her newfound equilibrium for dear life.

Casey sat quietly at the table, staring down at her cereal. She was thinking about the bad dream she had. There had been a huge truck honking in the street while she was riding her bike on the sidewalk. When she glanced behind her to see what the driver was honking at, the windows suddenly turned into big, angry red eyes, the front turning into a gigantic mouth filled with sharp teeth the size of tires. And it swerved off of the street and began coming after her, snarling and roaring. So she screamed and rode as fast as she could, calling for help. In the blink of an eye, someone grabbed on to her and they flew into the air, just as the truck ran over her bike.

She looked up at her hero and gasped when she saw it was her brother L.J. However, she was unable to say anything before the truck began to fly, soaring up to get them. L.J. tried to fly faster, but the wheels of the car turned into long, stretching arms that grabbed her brother.

She began falling.

Screaming, she awoke. Her little sister was still asleep, and so were her mommy and daddy, because they didn't check and see if she was okay. Sweating and shivering, Casey laid back down. She really, really wished her brother would come back from Heaven. She couldn't see why God would want him if He knew that Casey needed him so badly. Still shaken from her dream, feeling sorry for herself, and deeply missing her brother, Casey had cried herself to sleep once again.

"Finish eating your cereal, baby." Her mother said quietly, interrupting her thoughts.

Casey picked up the spoon and idly poked at the cereal. It was soggy. She looked up at her mommy and daddy. They were mad at each other still, Casey knew. They didn't say sorry for yelling at each other last night. Instead of talking and laughing and doing gross things like kissing each other on the mouth or neck, like they always used to do, her mommy didn't even _look_ at her daddy, and her daddy kept staring at the newspaper.

Casey glanced at her sister. Even Aliya knew something was wrong. She wasn't talking as much as she usually did, or smiling and giggling. She was just eating a bowl of Cheerios without milk, picking up the O's one by one.

Sighing, Casey looked at the empty chair beside her. Maybe if she could imagine L.J. sitting there, she could pretend everything was okay.

It wasn't hard picturing him sitting there. Yellow hair, gray eyes, looked like Daddy. It was breakfast, and Saturday too, so he would be wearing his pajamas, still. The blue and white ones that looked like the clothes the Yankees baseball players wore. Casey smiled a little as she imagined L.J. sitting there, chowing down on his cereal like a pig. It was so real when he looked up and grinned at her, that she smiled back.

Suddenly, Aliya said something that caught everyone's attention. "Where's my bruddah?"

Casey looked down and focused on her cereal again. She asked the question a lot, and always out of the blue, which caught everyone off-guard. "He's in Heaven with God." Her mommy told her for the thousandth time.

"Heb-den? Make him come back Mommy, back now." Aliya demanded. She always said that after her mommy told her he was in Heaven.

"I can't do that, baby," her mother said. "God wanted him, and we can't ever question His motives or demand anything from Him. Ever."

Aliya looked like she accepted the explanation, and Casey glanced at the chair next to her again. L.J. was gone, but he was slowly reappearing. "We're missin' cartoons," pretend L.J. said. "Come on, Case."

Smiling, Casey looked up at her parents. "I'm not hungry. Can I go watch cartoons?" She asked.

"No." Her mommy said.

"Yes." Her daddy said at the same time. No one said anything for a moment.

Her mommy spoke first. "Casey, you haven't _touched_ your food. Don't waste it."

"She's not hungry." Her daddy said. Her mommy gave her daddy a long, angry look. Her daddy just glanced at her mommy and nodded to her. "Go and watch your cartoons, Casey."

Her mommy was mad, but she didn't say anything as she left, or when Aliya slid off of her chair and followed her. Casey could hear her mommy whispering angrily to her daddy as she followed pretend L.J. into the den. "They're gonna start yelling at each other again, L.J. They do it a lot since you went to Heaven." Casey told her brother shakily.

"They're just both in bad moods 'cause they miss me," she imagined L.J. saying. "Don't worry about it. Everything will be okay, I promise."

Comforted, she, Aliya, and her pretend brother watched Saturday morning cartoons, like everything was normal.

They moved their argument to the bedroom, where it would be harder for the girls to hear. Pacey and Joey stood across from each other, both trying to keep from shouting.

"Look," Joey said with quiet firmness. "I don't want to argue with you. Just don't undermine my authority in front of Casey. Not only does it make me look like the bad guy, how do you expect her to take me seriously?"

"Come _on_, Joey," Pacey said in frustration. "The girl wanted to watched some cartoons, big deal. She wasn't hungry."

"Pacey, that's _not _the point!" Joey said loudly.

"I know your point—"

"No you don't, you don't understand me." Joey interrupted.

Pacey smirked. "Oh _you're _talking."

Joey was taken aback. Her eyes widened. "What the _hell _are you talking about?"

Pacey stared at her, and then looked away, crossing his arms. "Forget it, Joey."

"Maybe I don't want to forget it, Pacey. Maybe—"

"Just forget it!" He shouted.

"What were you trying to say?" she shouted back. "That I don't understand you? What about you don't I understand? The way you've become so pissy and short-tempered? The way you're so distant to me? The way you turn every little comment or simple conversation or minor disagreement into a full-fledged war? Well I admit it, Pacey. You've got me there. You're the one causing problems in this marriage, and I'm the one to blame. And I have no clue how the hell you figured that one out."

"Problems?" He asked incredulously.

Joey rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you're too far gone in your own little world that you don't realize that we're having problems. We argue, we don't laugh together, we don't make love. I can't remember the last time you kissed me with any real passion. And you're gone have the half the night," Joey threw her hands up in exasperation. "Where the hell do you go?"

"That's not what I meant," he said bitterly, not answering her question. "It's just pretty damn convenient that you're the one talking about problems and 'own little worlds'. It seems like nothing's bothering you. You just work and work and never say anything to Casey or me or Aliya. You're turned into this automaton with no emotions, no strong feelings whatsoever, no nothing. How do you expect me to make love to a goddamn Ice Queen?"

Joey crossed arms and glared steadily at him. "Where . . . do you go . . . every single night?" She said with slow and quiet deliberation, making sure he understood her question.

Pacey bristled at her tone and assumed she thought he was sleeping around. "Where do you think I go? Straight into the arms of another woman?" He asked, insulted.

Joey looked at him in disbelief. "Who said anything about that? I think the question now is should I be disturbed by your little Freudian slip?"

Pacey returned her glare. "There's nothing Freudian about it. You're the one implying some stupid shit about me."

"Don't call me stupid, Pacey." She said, trembling with anger. "Don't ever call me stupid."

Suppressing the impulse to scream, Pacey clenched his hands into fists. "I didn't call you stupid!" He yelled.

Joey shook her head to herself and rubbed her temples before replying, "You know what? I know how this little scenario is going to end. Why don't you just stomp off like you always do, and just save your breath?"

"Fine. Whatever you want, lady." He said. He stormed out of the bedroom and left the house.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Chapter Five 
    
    Every thought that I repent,
    
    There's another chip you haven't spent,
    
    And you're cashing them all in.
    
    Where do we begin
    
    To get clean again?
    
    Can we get clean again?
    
    I walk home alone with you 
    
    And the mood you're born into.
    
    Sometimes you let me in,
    
    And I take it on the chin
    
    I can't get clean again
    
    I wanna know can we get clean again?
    
    The God of Wine comes crashing through
    
    The headlights of a car
    
    That took you farther than you
    
    Thought you'd ever want to go
    
    We can't get back again.
    
    We can't get back again.
    
    She takes a drink and then she waits.
    
    The alcohol it permeates.
    
    And soon the cells give away,
    
    And cancels out the day.
    
    I can't keep it all together.
    
    I can't keep it all together.
    
    (stuck underneath the moon)
    
    I know . . . 
    
    I can't keep it all together
    
    (stuck underneath the moon)
    
    And the siren's song that is your madness
    
    Holds a truth I can't erase
    
    All alone on your face.
    
    Every glamorous sunrise
    
    Throws the planets out of line
    
    A star sign out of whack
    
    A fraudulent zodiac.
    
    And the God of Wine is crouched down in my room,
    
    You let me down, I said it
    
    Now I'm going down
    
    And you're not even around
    
    And I said no . . . 
    
    I can't keep it all together
    
    (stuck underneath the moon)
    
    I know . . . 
    
    I can't keep it all together
    
    There's a memory of a window,
    
    looking through I see you,
    
    searching for something I could never give you
    
    And there's someone who understands you
    
    more than I do.
    
    A sadness I can't erase
    
    All alone on your face.
    
     
    
    -"God Of Wine" by Third Eye Blind

Pacey was gone for six days. The longer he was gone, the more Joey drank, and the more Casey relied on imagining L.J. was with her. It was becoming really easy, imagining L.J. there, and sometimes she didn't even have to think about it, he just popped up and helped her with the blocks or plopped down on her bed and watched movies with her and Aliya. Casey really enjoyed his company, and it made her forget about her worry that her daddy was never going to come back.

Joey drowned her anger, worry, and annoyance with different kinds of liquor; she'd learned the hard way not to mix drinks. When she went through everything they had in the liquor cabinet, she went out and bought some more. The recycle can got filled up with empty bottles of rum, vodka, and tequila, her favorites. It was the empty bottles that fueled another argument when Pacey finally showed himself.

Pacey circled the block for the ninth time. He was reluctant to go inside, but he knew he had to face her. Sighing, Pacey pulled into the driveway and turned off the engine.

Sighing, he rubbed his face with both hands. He'd sat in a hotel room for six days, staring at the ceiling, the walls, and out of the window; wandering the streets at night, eating alone in fast food restaurants. He thought a lot. He thought of his son, his beautiful daughters, and Joey. He thought a lot about their arguments and their overall relationship, or lack thereof.

He knew he was being distant to his family, especially Joey, but he couldn't help it. And it also didn't help that although Casey resembled Joey, it was an image of L.J. that Joey's face now evoked. He didn't know why. Perhaps it was because they acted the same way. Pacey knew there was something he had to do. But he couldn't figure out what it was supposed to be, and he couldn't figure out how to get himself out of his depressed, moody, sometimes apathetic state.

Taking a deep breath, Pacey opened the door and stepped out of the car. He noticed that their blue recycling can was sitting at the curb. He shook his head and went over to put it back against the side of the house. Joey always forgot that recycle day was on Sunday, not Saturday, which was one of the garbage days.

Inside was a black plastic bag. Because they couldn't open the bags and go through them, the sanitation workers wouldn't pick it up if the recyclables weren't loose in the blue can, or in a blue bag. He pulled it out and shook it a little, making sure that it was recyclables and not garbage.

It was recyclables. Bottles, in fact. A lot of glass bottles actually, Pacey realized. He furrowed his brow in thought. Why would there be a bunch of bottles in the recycle can? Because there were children in the house, they didn't buy many glass bottles. In fact, the only thing that was glass in the house was the glasses she and Pacey drank out of, and the bottles of liquor they had in the cabinet . . . The bottles of liquor . . .

Pacey untied the knot and looked inside. In disbelief, he picked up two of the bottles. Vodka and . . . _tequila? _They _never_ bought tequila, and as he inspected the bottle and saw a little worm was sitting at the bottom, he knew it was the real deal. 

Abandoning the can, Pacey carried the bottles into the house, his mind working fast, demanding answers. He found Joey in their bedroom, which ranked of alcohol, sprawled across the bed, eyes half-closed, dressed in gray bike shorts, a gray sweatshirt, and thick white socks. Her hair was up in a haphazard ponytail and there was an assortment of bottles on the floor. 

"Can you explain this?" Pacey asked quietly. Joey startled and jerked herself into a sitting position, sighing in relief when she saw it was him.

"So _you _decided t'show up, huh?" She drawled drunkenly when she got over her fright.

"Joey," he said slowly. "Can you tell me why there's about twenty empty bottles of liquor in the garbage? Bottles I've never seen in our house before. Like these." He held up the bottles.

"Pay-zee, Pay-zee, Pay-zee," Joey sighed, shaking her head. "You wanna tell _me_ why you . . . why you _failed _to bless your fam'ly with your pressens for the pass . . . uh . . . for the pass lots of days, huh?" She asked, rolling to her feet.

"Joey," he said firmly, "I know we're going through things right now, but drinking never solves any—"

"Ohhh," Joey said loudly, walking over to him. "You dis'pear for a week an' I'm s'posed to sit here an' let you control me? I'm s'posed to lissen t'this World According to Pay-zee boolshit? I don't think so, uh-uh, you need to leave. Bye bye bye."

"Listen to me, Jo—"

"Uh-uh-uh," Joey said, waving her finger in his face. "You, Pay-zee, are a lousy, rotten, stinkin' son-uhv-uh-bish. You needa get your asshole ass outta my sight. Be gone for anudda damn week. See if I give a shit. Bastard." She muttered.

Pacey took a deep breath, and then stepped back to avoid the fumes of alcohol emanating from her. "Joey, I won't leave with you like this."

"You've been fuckin' gone for days, you bastard!" Joey said angrily, her first clear sentence. "Whadduya think I've been doing all that time? Knidding sweaters? No! . . . Ya know what? You need ta leave, Pay-zee. You really need t'leave . . . Leave! Get out! Whadduya waiting for? _Get out!_" She hollered, pushing him. He stumbled a step back, and she shoved him again, harder. "_Get out!_"

"Goddamn it, Joey! What the hell is wrong with you?! What are you doing to yourself?!" He shouted.

"There's nothing fuckin' wrong with me Pay-zee. I can't talk to you right now. I need you to get out. Get out of my sight, Paze. Please . . . You're making me sick. You're lidder'ly making me sick, Pay-zee." She warned. Hurt and angry, Pacey glowered at her, and opened his mouth to reply, but, on cue, she stopped him by suddenly turning a sickly shade of green, and running to the bathroom.

Listening to her retch, Pacey dejectedly looked around the room and began gathering the empty bottles strewn around the bed. Obviously, while he was gone Joey raided the liquor cabinet, and then went out and bought some more. He pressed his lips together and stood there, trying to decide whether or not he was going to leave or stay.

Joey had been drunk before. He'd seen her drunk several times in their life together, but never did she polish off that much alcohol in a little under a week, not even during college. Unaware that Joey's drinking had been going on before his disappearance, Pacey figured that his absence had driven her to drink, so he decided he wouldn't leave the house again. But he also knew that Joey wasn't going to talk to him rationally while she was drunk, and he didn't want to hear any of her ramblings either. So Pacey decided to spend the night on the couch in the den, but not before he checked on the girls and emptied out every single bottle of liquor in the cabinet.

Joey awoke to the familiar pounding in her head and cobwebs in her mind. But she also awoke to the distinct smell of bacon frying downstairs. Hazily propping herself on her elbows, Joey rubbed the sleep from her eyes and ran her fingers through her long dark brown hair, before wearily rolling over on to her back and staring up at the ceiling.

Sighing as parts of the event of the night before began to form into a full memory; Joey tried to figure out what she was going to say to Pacey when she went downstairs. She knew that he would want to say something to her about her drinking, but she didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to hear anything he had to say to her, and she definitely didn't want to know where he'd been.

After taking a shower and brushing her teeth, Joey dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and straightened up the bedroom. Although she still had a headache, Joey headed downstairs feeling refreshed, the sound of her daughters' laughter lifting her spirits.

Mouths full of breakfast, the girls bade her a cheerful good morning. Pacey, who had been sitting on the island counter and entertaining them, stared at her intently, smile frozen on his face.

"Good morning, guys." Joey said, ignoring Pacey, kissing Aliya and Casey on their foreheads.

"Daddy made us baby pamcakes." Aliya told her, waving her fork, which had a piece of silver dollar pancake on it.

"Good morning, Joey." Pacey said cautiously.

"It's _pan_cake, cutie," Joey gently corrected, ignoring him. Pacey watched her, unable to ignore the small pang of hurt when she didn't answer him back. He wanted to talk to her about all of the alcohol she consumed, but he could tell she was going to be difficult about it.

"Pamcake." Aliya said again, proudly, ostensibly thinking she corrected herself. Joey grinned at her and ruffled her hair as she went to the cabinet and grabbed the small bottle of Advil.

"You didn't say good morning back to Daddy." Casey said quietly, a forgotten piece of bacon in her hand. Pacey glanced at his daughter, and then looked at Joey to see what she would do. Without missing a beat, Joey shrugged.

"Really? I wasn't aware he said anything, sweetie." Joey said, popping two pills into her mouth and swallowing them dry. Putting the container back, she plastered a huge smile on her face and leaned her palms on the counter behind her. Forcing himself to keep his eyes away from the way her breasts strained against the small t-shirt she was wearing, Pacey licked his lips and tried again.

"Joey, I want to talk to you." He said.

Her eyes didn't even flicker in his direction. "So, what do you girls want to do today? I'm sorry you didn't make it to camp, I was really tired." She explained.

"I want to talk to you, Joey." Pacey said, louder.

"Daddy's gonna take us to camp late after we eat breh-fess." Aliya told her mother, holding a cup of milk with both hands. "Daddy said you was sick."

"Breakfast, baby." Joey corrected, going over and combing Aliya's hair with her fingers.

"Daddy said he wants to talk to you, Mommy." Casey said slowly, carefully, not wanting to get in trouble.

"I'm gonna make a pit-cha for you, Mommy. In camp. I'm gonna make a pit-cha of a house an' a doggie an' a kitty too."

"Thank you, Allie," Joey kissed her. "I can't wait."

Casey frowned. Her father looked upset that she wasn't answering him. "Mommy, Daddy said—"

"Finish your food, Casey." Joey said softly. Casey's golden eyes clouded over and she obediently began to finish her food.

His heart going out to his daughter, Pacey tried again. "Joey—" He began.

"Not now." Joey interrupted, looking at him and even adding a phony smile for Casey's sake. "Hurry up and eat so your father can take you to camp."

The girls ate and Pacey and Joey washed them up and dressed them. When he came back from dropping them off at camp, Joey was waiting for him in the den. She was sitting on the couch, her feet tucked under her thighs, staring at the blank television screen.

"So talk." Joey instructed evenly when he came in.

Dismayed by her cool opening, Pacey slowly began saying what he'd rehearsed over and over in his mind since the night before. "Look . . . I know I've been distant over the past couple of weeks," he began. Joey snorted indelicately at the understatement, but he ploughed ahead. "And I know I was wrong. But while I was gone, I was at a hotel, and I had nothing but time to think. So I thought. And I thought. And I came up with no answers, except the fact that I don't like where my life is, and I don't like where we are. But I especially don't like the fact that you've taken up this drinking habit and are turning into an alcoholic—"

"Alcoholic?" She blurted incredulously, standing up. "First of all, unless you were arguing with me Pacey, you've been _very_ distant the past eleven weeks; and you disappear after every big fight we have. Secondly, now that you've returned from one of your impromptu mini-sabbaticals from our marriage and our home, you have the audacity to take one look at my situation and realize that you want to be my knight-in-shining armor and save me from my supposed downward spiral into alcoholism? What's next? Are you planning to continue to ride your hero complex and actually accompany me to the A.A. meetings you'll no doubt force me to attend in the name of misguided chivalry on Monday nights?"

"I see the alcohol hasn't impaired your wit." He said dryly, struggling to control his temper.

"That's because I'm not an alcoholic. You found me drunk one time. _One_. And that was last night; after you decided to return home."

"Joey, all of those bottles were not the fruit of one night's overindulgence. You'd be dead right now if it were."

"True," she allowed. "But I'm not an alcoholic, Pacey."

Pacey shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. "No. I don't believe you."

Joey shrugged. "Frankly, I don't give a damn what you believe or don't believe. You haven't been a bit of help to me ever since L.J. died. You're useless. Why are you even speaking to me? Why are you even here? What are you doing here? You're nothing. _We're_ nothing." She gesticulated dismissively at the empty air to emphasize the insignificance of their current relationship.

"You're my wife, Joey." Pacey said firmly.

Shaking her head, Joey sank back down on to the couch, suddenly weary. "Nowadays, I don't think I want that title anymore."

Pacey was shocked into silence for a moment, his heart beating wildly. "What?" He asked roughly.

"You heard me Pacey."

"So we have a couple of fights and you're talking _divorce_, Joey?" He asked furiously.

Joey laughed humorlessly. "You're having quite the time underrating things today, aren't you, Witter? We've had a lot more than a couple of fights."

"It doesn't matter!" He exploded.

"Yes it does matter. And if you don't see that, if you don't see everything that's going on here, then you're more of a heartless asshole than I thought."

Pacey stood there, trembling with anger and disbelief; his jaw clenched painfully, his hands clamped into fists at his sides. He wanted to scream, or to hit the wall. Instead he just shook his head and shifted from one foot to the other.

Joey smiled with a serenity she didn't feel. "Walk out, Pacey. Go on. You're two seconds away from doing it, aren't you?" She asked him, her voice oozing patronizing amusement.

Growing angrier because she was right, Pacey forced himself to stay put. "Is that what you want, Joey? You want me to leave? Because I'll do whatever you want me to." He asked tightly, trying not to shout.

"I want you to do whatever the hell you want to do, just as long as it doesn't involve me; in any way, shape, or form."

Left with nothing else to do, Pacey shrugged. He wasn't going to twist her arm, and he knew that if he stayed there any longer, he was going to end up tearing the place apart. "Fine."

He left.

Joey sat quietly in the grass, staring desolately at the headstone in front of her. She was cross-legged, idly tracing the name engraved in the marble with her finger.

_Joseph Pacey Witter_.

Her serious, sweet Little Joey. It was Pacey who named him on the day of his birth. It was she who mournfully chose the inscription for his gravestone, a quote she remembered from college: _Whom the gods love, dies young_.

A lonely tear fell down her cheek and she hastily wiped it away. She knew that if she started crying now, she wouldn't be able to stop. She hadn't had a drink in two days, and felt her feelings constantly trying to invade her emotional barrier of numbness. Gathering her strength, Joey bottled up her feelings and shoved it farther and farther down until the urge to cry passed. She had perfected the art of swallowing her pain when her mother died, and without alcohol to do it for her for the past couple of days, the ability was becoming stronger.

So wrapped up in her thoughts, Joey didn't hear Pacey and her daughters approach until she felt Aliya's small hand touch her hair. Joey looked around and met the little girl's melancholy, concerned gaze.

"What are you guys doing here?" Joey said, stroking her cheek. "Aren't you supposed to be at camp?"

"We saw you and I wanted to see you."

Joey nodded her understanding. The cemetery was en route to their Day Camp, and there was a red light on the street beside the cemetery, close to where L.J. was buried. If Pacey was stopped there, Joey could be easily seen from the street.

"Want L.J., Mommy?" Aliya asked softly.

Joey fought more tears and nodded slowly. "I miss your brother very much." She said, admitting it for the first time aloud.

"You said God wants L.J. wif him in heaben, so we can't have him," Aliya said sadly, her hazel eyes searching her mother's. "But you have me, Casey, an' Daddy." She offered quietly.

Joey looked up at Pacey, who was holding Casey. They hadn't spoken a word to each other for two whole days, and there was a distant look in his eyes, a closed-off look to his face, as if he didn't know her, nor did he care to know her.

Trying not to be bothered by that, Joey returned her attention to Aliya. The little girl was searching her face earnestly.

"I know, sweetie," Joey said finally. "And I thank God for letting you guys stay with me."

"Wanna hug?" Aliya offered, holding her arms out.

Joey enclosed her daughter in a tight embrace. "I love you and Casey, Aliya," Joey whispered. "Never forget that."

Aliya nodded and Joey picked her up as she stood. "Do you want a ride?" Pacey asked emotionlessly. Surprised to hear him speak to her, Joey momentarily forgot if she'd brought her car or if she took a cab.

"No, thanks. I drove." She declined politely, shifting Aliya to her other arm.

"Fine. Do you want to come with me or go with your mother, Aliya, Casey?" He asked both girls.

Casey shook her head, comfortable in her father's arms, and Aliya hugged her mother tighter. Having his answer, Pacey nodded and began walking to his car in silence. Joey watched him and Casey for a moment, and then gave Aliya a bright smile. "Come on, kiddo."

As she walked to her own car, one thing was clear. Her life was falling apart. And if Pacey was going to continue to argue with her and walk away from her, instead of providing her with the comfort she hated to admit she needed, she was going to find someone who would.

Joey knew just where to look.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

How many times do I have to say

To get away—get gone

Flip your shit past another lasses

Humble dwelling

You got your game, made your shot, and you got away

with a lot, but I'm not turned-on

So put away that meat you're selling

'Cause I do know what's good for me-

And I've done what I could for you

But you're not benefiting, and yet I'm sitting

Singing again, sing, sing again

How can I deal with this, if he won't get with this

M'I gonna heal from this; he won't admit to it 

Nothing to figure out; I gotta get him out

It's time the truth was out that he don't give a

Shit about me

'Cause I do know what's good for me-

And I've done what I could for you

But you're not benefiting, and yet I'm sitting

Singing again, sing, sing again

How can I deal with this, if he won't get with this

M'I gonna heal from this; he won't admit to it 

Nothing to figure out; I gotta get him out

It's time the truth was out that he don't give a

Shit about me

How many times can it escalate

'Till it elevates to a place I can't breathe?

And I must decide, if you must deride

Then I'm much obliged to up and go

I'll idealize and realize that it's no

Sacrifice because the price is paid, and

There's nothing else to grieve

Fuckin' go-

'Cause I've done what I could for you, and I do know what's

Good for me and I'm not benefiting, instead

I'm sitting singing again, singing again, singing again,

Sing, sing, sing again

How can I deal with this, if he won't get with this

M'I gonna heal from this; he won't admit to it 

Nothing to figure out; I gotta get him out

It's time the truth goes out

That he don't give a shit about me

How can I deal with this, if you won't get with this

And we're gonna heal from this

He won't admit to it 

Nothing I figure out

I gotta get him out

It's time the truth goes out

That he don't give a shit about me

-"Get Gone" by Fiona Apple

Pacey wasn't surprised when Joey informed him that she wanted to go to Capeside for a while. He was even less surprised to notice the look of relief pass over her troubled face when he declined her reluctant offer to go along. He knew she wanted to be away from him for a while; and the only problem he had with her leaving was that he would miss the girls. He wasn't sure if he really didn't care that Joey was leaving, or if he was erecting his own emotional barrier to prevent himself from caring. She had, after all, said she wanted a divorce. Maybe he was just trying to limit his emotional fallout. With that in mind, he knew that whenever he called Dawson's house, he would speak only to the girls, and not to her.

He stood on the front steps of their house, watching Joey leave with the girls. When the SUV turned the corner, he continued to stand there for a moment, before going inside. Not even realizing what he was doing, he went to the kids' room, where L.J.'s things were packed in boxes, on the top shelf of the closet. Pacey pulled one of the boxes down and stripped the tape off of the flaps.

Sadness engulfed him when he saw the contents of the box. There was L.J.'s blue ball and a few other toys. Pacey reached into the box and pulled out a little orange plush basketball. It was the first toy Pacey ever bought him, the day he was born.

On that day, he had walked into Joey's hospital room, carrying a bouquet of flowers and the basketball he'd bought in the gift shop his way back from making a few phone calls in the lobby.

She'd been watching the baby sleep in her arms, and looked up when Pacey entered. Seeing her there, the sunlight spilling over her glowing face, the cuddly infant in her arms, Pacey fell in love with her all over again. He'd approached the bed quickly, tossing the flowers on the chair beside it, and kissing her with so much ardor that she flushed red with desire and embarrassment.

"Wow," she breathed, gazing up at him with shining eyes. "What was that for?"

"For making me complete." He said huskily. Joey gave him a lopsided smile and lowered her eyes for a brief moment, her heart bursting with love for him.

Trying to lighten the mood, she glanced up at him and raised her eyebrows. "Don't get all Jerry Maguire on me now, Pacey."

He scowled. "You weren't supposed to recognize the line and call me on it, Joey," he said with false annoyance. "You were supposed to say 'ooh, Pacey, I love you so much. I'll do anything you want me to for the rest of our lives'." He said in a too high falsetto.

She gave him a dubious look and said, "Last time I checked, we're in real life, not your dreams, so you should've known better than that."

Pacey smiled and outsmarted, he changed the subject. "Did he grow any hair while I was gone?" He asked jokingly.

Joey smiled and gently pushed the blue cap off of her boy's head a little. "Nope," Joey said. "And he does have hair. It's just really blond and wispy right now. But don't worry. He'll be tall, dark, and handsome in no time. Just like his Daddy."

"Yeah." Pacey agreed, watching his son slowly awake. He held out the orange ball. "And he's going to be a star basketball player like me too."

Maybe it was gas, but the baby chose that exact moment to scrunch his face into a look so dubious that it wrung a laugh from both parents. "He's only about four hours old and he already knows you suck!" Joey said cheekily.

"I do not." Pacey complained. He pouted at the baby, put the ball on the nightstand, and gently picked him up out of Joey's arms. "You're supposed to be on _my_ side, little man."

Again came the look. It was a pure 'Joey' look, and Pacey grinned. "We have a little version of you over here, Jo." Pacey said in amusement.

Joey craned her neck to see the baby's face. "What are you talking about, Pace? He looks exactly like all of those baby pictures of you."

Pacey shook his head. "Oh no. That was all you, Jo. His name is going to be Joseph. Little Joey."

"I thought we were going to name him after you."

"Nope. Pacey can be his middle name. Joseph Pacey Witter."

Joey smiled. "Whatever you want. But I still get to name the next one. You get the third, and I get the fourth, and—"

"Whoa there, sister," he interrupted, grinning. "If this little guy is anything like me when I was young, you won't want anymore kids for a while."

Joey took ahold of his shirt and tugged him closer, tilting her head up when he leaned down and kissing him. "I love you," she said tenderly. "And I'd love to have ten of you running around the house."

He kissed her again. "Believe me, honey, you wouldn't."

Pacey smiled a little at the memory and lifted the plush ball to his nose and inhaled. It smelled of chocolate chip cookies. L.J.'s favorite. Knowing he was torturing himself, Pacey tried to swallow the lump in his throat, remembering how L.J.'s face looked after he had freshly baked cookies. His face and hands would be covered in chocolate and crumbs, and he would be grinning from ear to ear.

L.J. wouldn't be able to eat any more cookies.

Pressing the orange ball to his face, Pacey cried.

Joey slowly drove through the barely recognizable streets of Capeside. It wasn't quite the boring small town anymore. She underestimated Dawson's description of Capeside when he'd called her and Pacey a few months before, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and disappointment, informing them that Long Island was a lot quieter than Capeside, and he might as well buy a house there if he wanted to get his family away from the city. Long Island was nowhere near in the same population range as Manhattan, where Joey and Pacey lived, nor in Queens, where Bessie and Bodie lived. Yet, Capeside was might as well have been a farm in a town with two hundred people when compared to Long Island.

Joey simply wrote Dawson's bewildered tirade off as an over-dramatization on his part, as usual. After all, he did stay there. However, as she drove three miles an hour in a traffic jam, she was beginning to come to terms that her own theory of life was in effect, even in boring, tiny Capeside.

Everything changes, evolves.

Boring, tiny Capeside now inhabited about three times the amount of people it held not eight years ago, when she kissed the hellhole good-bye.

Dawson now lived a few minutes from his old house, and Joey knew exactly where it was. Getting there would have taken five minutes when she hit Main Street in the Capeside she once knew, but in new, baby metropolis Capeside, fifteen minutes had passed and she wasn't there yet. To say Joey was disappointed would be an understatement. In fact, her disappointment was rapidly turning to an irrational anger. How dare all these people just come in and clutter up her damn town! She wanted to know what they built here to make all those people come, so she could destroy it. Screw the fact that she left it without a backwards glance and vowed she wouldn't return unless she absolutely had to, Joey wanted her quiet little town back.

A sudden jolt awakened Casey from her slumber. The sun's light hit her right in the face and she squeezed her eyes tight and sat up. Something was missing. Aliya was sleeping in her car seat, but . . . pretend L.J. wasn't there. Panicked, Casey quickly imagined him sitting beside her, his head resting against Aliya's car seat, sleeping.

Feeling better, Casey looked at her mother. She was grumbling to herself. Casey had no idea what she was talking about, but the words town and stupid and idiots reached her ears. "Mommy?" Casey asked hesitantly.

Her mother jumped a little, and looked at her through the mirror. "Hey, Case," she said. "Have a nice rest? Sleep long enough?"

"Uh huh." Casey looked outside and was confused. "We went back home to Noo Yawk, Mommy? Are we in Queens?"

"No, sweetie. This is Capeside."

"_This_ is Capeside?" Casey asked in astonishment. Her mother and father always told her that Capeside was very, very quiet and small. They always said that it was quieter and smaller than Long Island, where her Auntie Andie and Uncle Peter lived.

"It changed a lot, baby." Her mom said. She sounded disappointed and mad.

"You're mad, Mommy?"

"Yes I am, sweetie."

"I thought you and Daddy hated it here."

"Not in retrospect."

"What does that mean?"

"Now that I'm looking back, I didn't hate it."

"You always said you did."

"As a matter of fact, yes I did hate it, but I loved it too. I don't know about Daddy."

"Is Daddy coming to be with us soon?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Her mother didn't say anything.

"Why not, Mommy?"

"He's working."

"When did he go back to work?"

"Are you sure you had enough sleep, Casey?"

"Uh huh. Are—"

"Are you sure? You don't want to go back to sleep?"

"No. Are we close to Uncle Dawson's house?"

"Not really, no."

"How much longer?"

"I don't know. Maybe five minutes. Maybe ten."

"Are we going to sleep there?"

"I hadn't really thought about that. He said we could as long as we want, but I haven't decided."

"Is Uncle Dawson nice?"

"Yes."

"Is his wife?"

"Disgustingly so."

"Do you like her?"

"Most of the time."

"Do you think she likes y—"

"Casey, baby, sit back and go back to sleep, honey. I have to think right now."

Casey sat back, but she didn't go to sleep. Instead, she looked at pretend L.J. He was awake and making funny faces at her, and she tried not to laugh out loud.


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven 

By the time Joey pulled up in Dawson's driveway, she was in a bad mood. But when she saw her old friend's handsome, familiar face in one of the large multi-paned windows by the door of his huge Victorian home, grinning, her spirits lifted considerably.

Dawson threw open the door and rushed over to her. He enfolded her into his strong, warm embrace and held her tightly. "God, I've missed you. It's been too long." He whispered.

Hugging him back, Joey smiled. "Missed you too, Dawson."

He stepped back, his hands on her shoulders as he examined her. "Let's see . . . Your hair is longer, you're a bit taller, and you're more beautiful, but you need to gain some weight." He said.

She looked him over. He had grown taller too, since their height difference was the same. His hair was a little shorter, he had a tan, and he looked very healthy and fit and happy. "You look good, Dawson." Joey said, nodding.

"Thank you . . . I'm so sorry about—"

"I got your card, Dawson," she stopped him. "It's okay and I understand why you couldn't make it. I don't want to talk about it right now."

Dawson nodded and changed the subject. "Are these little beauties Casey and Aliya?" He asked, nodding towards the car.

Joey sighed in grateful relief; glad he didn't press the issue. "Yes they are."

"Casey got so big." He said in amazement. He hadn't seen her since she was born. He'd been in California for the past four years, and hadn't seen Aliya at all, except for in pictures.

Joey opened Casey's car door and gestured her out. "This is Uncle Dawson, Case."

"Hi." Casey said shyly.

"Hi, Casey . . . You have the most beautiful eyes."

Casey lowered her head. Everyone told her that, but it still embarrassed her. "Thank you."

"Have you decided if you're going to stay here or at a hotel?"

Joey shrugged. "I'm not going back out into that traffic."

Dawson smiled sympathetically. "It's rush hour."

As Joey unlocked the trunk, she shot Dawson a look of disbelief. "Since when did Capeside have rush hour?"

"I was told it was since they built that one of those big new shopping malls here last year."

Joey frowned in thought, and then her eyes lit up. "They fit a Multiplex Mega Mall here?" She asked incredulously. Casey's gold eyes lit up with excitement. The Multiplex Mega Mall was a gargantuan of a mall; complete with the biggest, hottest, most talked about clothing, electronic, hardware, and toy stores. But what made this mall unique was what it had that other malls didn't have, or didn't have in their size. It had a gigantic arcade, a roller-rink, a cinema with fifty-five screens, a fitness center complete with basketball courts, tennis courts, a track, and batting ranges, even an indoor/outdoor pool and a huge rollercoaster. There wasn't one in Manhattan, because there wasn't any space, but there was one in Queens. It was packed any day and time of the week, at any season. Whoever came up with the idea was rich, and had gotten even richer. She and Pacey had taken the kids there numerous times, and they all loved it.

"Yes they did." Dawson answered. "Andrea works there."

Refusing the urge to roll her eyes, Joey posed Dawson with another question. "Where did they find space for it?"

"I'll show you. The streets are a little different now."

Joey shook her head in disbelief. You leave a town for eight years and all of a sudden it's a goddamn city. "I don't think I want to go," she told him. "Can you . . ." She motioned to their belongings that were sitting in the trunk.

"Of course." Dawson walked over to the trunk and began lifting out their bags. Joey went around the side and picked her sleeping child out of her car seat.

"She's beautiful, Joey." Dawson said, gazing at the little girl as he laced the strap of a duffle bag around his shoulder and picked up two suitcases.

"Thank you." Joey closed the trunk and tried to pull one of the suitcases out of his hand. He moved them both out of her reach. 

"Come on inside." Dawson said. 

He led them in to the house and kicked the door shut behind them. They were in a very warm, inviting foyer, and there was a door on each side. "Closet," he said, nodding to the one on the right. He nodded to the one on the right. "Bathroom."

They walked past the foyer into the living room. To the left was the kitchen, and to the right were stairs and a hallway. "There are two doors in the hallway, one leads to the basement, the other leads to the side of the house, which of course, leads to the backyard. There's a door to the backyard in the kitchen. The bedrooms are upstairs, mine and Andrea's, Seven's, and the guest bedrooms. The guest bedrooms and mine have bathrooms, and there's another one next to Seven's. I'll show you when we get up there. Come on."

"How old is Seven now?" Joey asked, following him upstairs and keeping an eye on Casey to make sure she followed.

"Five."

"He's five-years-old, Dawson?" Joey asked in surprise, remembering when he was just a baby. She also remembered asking Dawson why he was being named Seven, and he told her that he wanted to name him after Steven Spielburg, his childhood idol and current mentor and friend, but Andrea wanted to name him Kevin. So they compromised. Then she remembered that she had been pregnant with L.J. around the same time, and she shoved the thought out of her mind before it went any further.

"Yes he is." Dawson replied, pausing on the landing to adjust his hold on the suitcases before continuing up the next flight.

"Where is he?"

"In his room with his little friend Elliott from next door. I told them to come down, but they was too busy playing." Dawson shrugged.

"Elliott, huh? I bet you loved that, didn't you?" Joey teased.

Dawson shot her a glare. Joey grinned and looked around once they reached the second floor. There was a balcony straight ahead, and to the left, there was a hallway. Dawson led her down the hallway and into the second door on the left.

"The other door on the left is the other guest bedroom. The girls can sleep in here, or in the other one if you want. But this one is bigger, and I figured you'd want to put the girls in here." He said, putting down their bags.

She nodded and headed to the queen-sized bed. "You're right, I would. Thanks." She said, laying Aliya down in the middle of the bed and removing her shoes. It was a little warm in the room, so she left her on top of the covers.

"We have central air, but Seven has one of those summer colds that's going around here, so we don't want it to be too cool in the house right now," he explained, reading her mind. "If it gets too hot, we have a bunch of fans in the basement."

Joey smiled at his clairvoyance. "Thanks, Dawson. It'll be okay. Right, Case?" She asked her daughter.

Casey nodded vigorously. "Uh huh."

Joey grinned at her and picked up her suitcase. "Which bedroom is mine?"

"Right this way." He said. She followed him next door and she dropped her suitcase on her double bed.

"Andrea's and my room is right across from this one. Across from the other bedroom is Seven's. The door at the end of the hall is the bathroom." Dawson told her. "Just make yourself at home. I'm going to get Seven."

Casey climbed on to Joey's bed and looked up at her. "How long are we staying here?" She asked.

"About a week. Maybe two."

"That's long," Casey mused, chewing on her lower lip, swinging her legs. "Daddy won't miss us?"

"Daddy will miss you terribly. We'll call him whenever you miss him, okay?"

"Uh huh."

A little boy raced into the room and stopped. He had a head full of springy blond curls and direct sapphire blue eyes, like Andrea's. "Who are you?" He demanded. Another little boy came in the room, and just stood there, as if he was invisible. He had dark brown, wavy hair and huge unassuming brown eyes.

"Who are _you_?" Casey shot back.

"You first."

"_You_ first."

"_You_ first!" The little boy insisted, rubbing his nose with his sleeve. Dawson appeared in the doorway and met Joey's eyes. Joey shrugged. She was curious to watch how they interacted, and wouldn't interrupt until it got out of hand. Dawson did the same.

Casey shook her head. "No way."

Seven gave up. "I'm Seven."

"I'm four."

"No, my _name_ is Seven." He said, rubbing his nose and sniffling. He sneezed.

Casey wrinkled her nose. "What kinda name is that?"

"Casey." Joey warned.

"Your name is Casey?" Seven asked, sniffling again.

Casey nodded proudly. "That's right. My name is Casey Josephine Witter."

"Where are you from?" Seven grilled, catching her accent when she said Witter like 'Widdah'.

"I live in Noo Yawk Siddy. You wanna make somethin' of it?" Casey challenged.

Seven wrinkled his own nose. "I heard it's bad there."

"Seven." Dawson warned.

"It's bad only if you're a stupid ugly boy with cooties from Massatoosits naymt Seven." Casey said haughtily.

"Okay, that's enough," Joey said. "Apologize, Casey."

"I'm from California." He clarified.

"Big deal."

"Apologize, Casey."

"Not to that guy." She said defiantly.

Dawson smiled. "I see she takes after Pacey."

Joey rolled her eyes. "Does she." She agreed. "Apologize, Casey." Joey told her daughter for the third time.

Casey clamped her mouth shut. Dawson shook his head. "It's okay, Joey. Seven here needs remember his manners too. Seven, this is Aunt Joey and that's her daughter Casey. Her other daughter, Aliya, is in the other bedroom asleep, so keep your voice down."

Seven nodded and glared at Casey. Casey stuck her tongue out at him when her mother wasn't looking.

"Who this?" Joey asked, looking at the little boy who hadn't spoken a word.

"That's my friend Elliott." Seven informed her.

"Hello, Elliott." Joey said, smiling at the little boy.

"Hi." He said softly.

Suddenly aware of the other boy's presence, Casey stared at him. He stared back. Seven looked from his friend to Casey and made a face. "Stop making googly eyes at each other, that's nasty." He commanded. Joey grinned. Seven reminded her of Pacey.

Casey didn't seem to hear him. Neither did Elliott.

Seven tried again. "Hey, Casey, come play with us."

Joey watched her daughter blink a few times, and then look at Seven. "Okay," Casey said simply. "Can I?" She looked up at Joey.

Joey nodded. "Have fun. Play nicely." She warned her.

Casey gave her a mischievous little grin and slid off of the bed. The threesome left the room, and Joey looked up at Dawson and grinned. "That girl . . ." She said, shaking her head.

"She's adorable." Dawson complimented, going over to sit beside her on the bed.

Joey shifted over to make room for him. "Thank you."

They sat there talking, Dawson talking about his new project, Joey about her job. When they'd exhausted both subjects, Dawson looked at her searchingly.

"What?" Joey asked, knowing he had something to ask her.

"Are you okay, Joey? I mean," he explained when she began to bob her head up and down, "are you _really _okay?"

"I'm fine, Dawson." She gave him an over-bright smile.

Dawson eyed her levelly. "I've known you all of my life, Joey. Although we're not romantic soulmates, we're soulmates just the same. Don't bother lying to me."

Joey nodded. She knew it was true, he knew it was true, even Pacey knew it was true. In the beginning of their relationship, Pacey had been a little suspicious and jealous whenever Joey went out with Dawson by herself, but he had grown to trust them both.

A cloud of sadness descended over Joey as she thought of Pacey, and Dawson saw it. "What's that about?" He asked softly.

"What?"

"Whatever you just thought about that brought that look to your face. That's one of the things that's bothering you," he looked at her carefully. "But there's something else."

Joey shifted under his intent gaze. Suddenly, a soft gasp escaped from him lips, and a new tenderness settled over his features. His eyes soft and sympathetic, he took Joey's hand in his.

"My God, Joey," he whispered. "You haven't cried about your son yet, have you?"

Joey could handle screaming matches with Pacey as well as weeklong silent treatments. She could not however, handle the gentleness and compassion of her oldest friend. Struggling to fight her tears back, Joey shook her head. "Wow, Dawson," she said lightly, trying to laugh. "I didn't know that soulmates had the ability to read into each other's psyche. You should've told me that a long time ago. It could've come in handy."

Dawson was not amused. "Joey. Come on."  
For some reason, the phrase brought to Joey's mind the image of Dawson when they were teenagers. They were on the dock, after his parents' remarriage. Fighting back tears of his own, Dawson stopped her in the middle of what she was saying, and basically told her to stop wasting time and go to Pacey. The first completely unselfish act Dawson ever did; was also the most hurtful to himself, and the most life altering for Joey. If she had stayed with Dawson, she would probably be married to him, as a lawyer probably with her own firm, content in her life. She wouldn't have had the best summer of her teenage life, she wouldn't have a job that she loved, and she definitely wouldn't be not only content, but also deliriously happy as she is now. Well, was—until L.J. died, until her entire life turned upside-down.

"Dawson, I love you." Joey said softly.

"I love you too, Jo. I always will. But you—"

"I can't talk about this. Not now. Not now, Dawson." Joey said, shaking her head slowly. "Please, not right now. Please."

Dawson sighed. "If that's what you want."

Joey heard Aliya calling her from the other room, and thankfully rose to her feet. "Thank you, Dawson." She told him, before leaving the room.


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight 
    
    The winter here is cold,
    
    And bitter
    
    It chills us to the bone.
    
    I haven't seen the sun for weeks,
    
    Too long too far from home.
    
    It feels just like I'm sinking,
    
    And I claw for solid ground.
    
    I'm pulled down by the undertow,
    
    I never thought I could feel so low.
    
    Through all the darkness I feel like letting go.
    
    If all the strength and all of the courage
    
    Come and lift me up from this place
    
    I know I can love you much better than this.
    
    Full of grace, full of grace,
    
    My love.
    
    It's better this way, I say,
    
    Haven't seen this place before
    
    Through everything we say and do
    
    Hurts us all the more
    
    It's just that we stayed too long
    
    In the same old sickly skin.
    
    I'm pulled down by the undertow
    
    I never thought I could feel so low
    
    In all the darkness I feel like letting go
    
    If all of the strength and all of the courage
    
    Come and lift me up from this place
    
    I know I can love you much better than this
    
    Full of grace . . .
    
    I know I can love you much better than this . . .

It's better this way.

-Full Of Grace

Sarah McLachlan

"How long will you be staying, Joey?" Andrea asked over dinner. Joey rescued Aliya's half-filled cup of juice from spilling and then set it out of her reach. She glanced at Andrea and shrugged.

"I'm not too sure. No more than two weeks, Casey has to start kindergarten soon. But if it becomes a problem, I'll just take a room at the Marriott. I'm sure they built one here too." She said sarcastically.

"No, they didn't." Dawson said, smiling sympathetically.

"It would be no problem," Andrea offered, her eyes sparkling warmly. "I would love for you three to stay as long as possible."

Joey smiled at her. Her sweetness was a little annoying at times, and her beauty made Joey feel like she was an awkward teenager again, but she knew she probably would stay as long as possible. Andrea Taylor Leery was almost as tall as Joey, slender like the prima ballerina she used to be, with a thick curtain of jet-black hair that reached almost to her waist, a pink rosebud of a mouth, perfectly blemish-free, porcelain skin, and large sapphire blue cat-eyes.

Pacey had stared open-mouthed at her when he first met her in the theatre at Dawson's movie premiere—his first directorial effort—and as soon as Dawson and his then-girlfriend turned away, Joey punched him in the stomach and didn't talk to him for the rest of the evening. He never gave Andrea a second glance after that, and made it up to Joey in bed late that night, and thinking about it brought shivers of pleasure to Joey, even now, six years later.

"Be careful. I'll probably take you up on that offer." Joey said belatedly.

"I would love it if you did, Joey," Andrea insisted. "You and Pacey never spend enough time with us."

Joey smiled a little uncomfortably. She wondered why it was that every beautiful woman from New York that was or used to be Dawson's significant other wanted to be best friends with her. She didn't get it.

Casey saw that her mother wasn't paying any attention to her, and seized the opportunity to kick Seven under the table. "Ow!" he shouted. "She kicked me!"

"Casey!" Joey said sharply.

Seven grabbed up his spoon and threw it at Casey.

"Seven!" His parents chorused.

Casey ducked, and when it sailed past her, she shot back up in her seat. "Why'd you do that, stupid?" Casey shouted indignantly.

"Why'd you kick me, dummy?"

"Farthead!" Casey shouted.

Aliya stared in fascination at the exchange.

"Casey!" Joey said sharply.

"Seven!" Dawson yelled.

Joey rubbed her eyes in exasperation and her gaze fell on Seven's little friend Elliott, who was spending the night. She noticed that the dinner plate in front him was affording him a wealth of quiet diversion.

"Seven! What's the matter with you?" Andrea chided. "You never throw things at people. Ever."

"She started it!" Seven whined angrily.

"Casey, apologize." Joey ordered.

"No."

"Apologize, right now!" Joey thundered.

"Sorry." Casey mumbled immediately.

"Seven," Dawson prompted. "You too."

"I'm sorry."

Joey rolled her eyes and shot Andrea a wry look. "Well, by the end of the next couple of weeks, you'll be ready to put us out. Especially if my daughter keeps picking fights with your son." She gave Casey a meaningful glare.

Andrea smiled sagely. "They'll be crying like babies when it's time for you three to go back home."

Seven and Casey were too busy glaring at each other across the table to hear what Andrea said and launch an indignant protest accordingly.

The days passed at Dawson's house pleasantly. Joey passed her time reading books and walking along the creek behind Dawson's house. At least that hadn't changed. The creek had remained undisturbed, and in a few places, like behind Dawson's house, she could forget that Capeside had changed into an infuriating little baby-city. At least some parts had remained intact.

Casey spent less and less time with pretend L.J., and more time with Seven and his friend Elliott. She'd found she rather liked staring at Elliott, and he seemed to like looking at her too. But whenever they began doing it, Seven would get mad and suggest they play tag or something else. Aliya would tag along everywhere they went and Casey made sure she was never left behind.

Late on the third night, Joey was stretched out on the chaise lounge on the balcony. It was quiet, and everyone was sound asleep, except her. She was enjoying the cool breeze outside, sipping from her glass of Bacardi Limón on the rocks, staring at the sky. At Dawson's house, she hadn't consumed as much as she usually did, but a night hadn't passed when she didn't drink enough to get a suitable buzz. Because, however, her tolerance had skyrocketed, it took a lot to get her there. Dawson noticed, and it was the first thing he mentioned when he joined her outdoors, too excited about his upcoming project to sleep.

"You drink quite a lot, don't you?" He remarked casually, sitting on the rocking chair beside her and propping his feet on the rocking ottoman in front of it.

Joey's gaze shot to him, her eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about, Dawson?" She asked, feigning insulted incredulity.

"You bought that bottle of rum today. Why is it half-finished? Better yet," he interrupted her before she could speak, "why aren't you anywhere near trashed?"

Joey stared at him intently, without really seeing him, and Dawson couldn't figure out if she was either fishing for excuses or if she was trying to figure out if she should tell him to mind his own damn business. Apparently, the former won, because she gave him a soft, amused smile.

"Andrea and I had some earlier," she said smoothly, despite her hesitation, "and we spilled it in the kitchen. It got all over the floor. You didn't smell all that alcohol when you came in?"

"No I didn't," Dawson said, swinging his legs off of the ottoman and sitting up. "And I wouldn't have, because Andrea is allergic to rum. As you well know." He said pointedly, reaching forward and picking up the bottle of Bacardi Limón.

Joey winced inwardly. She could kick herself for not remembering that. God, she, Pacey, and Dawson had teased Andrea mercilessly about it when they'd found out. It was such an odd thing to be allergic to.

"Oh." She said lamely, not knowing what else to say, staring down into her glass as if it were a crystal ball which would tell her when Dawson would go back inside and leave her alone.

"Well?" He pressed, rolling the bottle between his hands.

Joey searched her mind for reasons as to why her tolerance had gone up, knowing that nothing but the truth would be acceptable. "Well, what?" She asked, stalling for time.

"Don't play dense, Joey," Dawson said stubbornly. "You know what I'm talking about. Either you've been drinking a little more and more over the past couple of years, or you've been drinking a lot recently. Although I know what the answer is, I want to hear it from you. Which one is it?"

Automatically, Joey lifted her hand and knocked the contents of the glass back, and then chewed on the ice, not saying anything to him. She wondered if she should even bother telling him it was the former when they both knew it was the latter.

"If you know what it is, then don't waste time asking me what it is." She said sensibly.

"It would be better for you if you admit it."

Joey snorted indelicately. "This is hardly a habit-breaking meeting, Dawson. I don't have to stand up and recite my name and tell you what kind of addiction I have."

Dawson stared at her. Sitting beside him was his best friend in the world. She was in so much pain and it was killing him that he couldn't reach her. "Of course you don't," he said gently, "but Joey, you don't have to drink either."

Joey didn't say anything.

Sighing, Dawson closed his eyes and tried to think of another way to reach her. "It's because of Joseph, isn't it?" He asked softly. She struggled to answer him, but before she could form the words, he was answering his own question. "Of course it is because of him, I mean, why else would you be drinking so much, you always used to be so strong."

"You're wrong." Joey said, desperately wishing she hadn't allowed Dawson to take the bottle from her. It would be useless to try to get it from him now. Wishing her glass was full again; Joey tipped the empty tumbler back and caught the last drops of alcohol on her tongue.

"Am I wrong?"

Joey nodded vigorously, hungrily eyeing the bottle Dawson held in his hands.

"I don't think I am, Joey," Dawson said, noticing where Joey's eyes were and setting the bottle on the floor behind him. "I think the real reason you came here, is because you're finally ready to talk about your son, but for some reason, you either can't, or don't want to talk about it with Pacey. Am I right?"

With a tug of her heart, Joey saw that Dawson was unequivocally right, but she couldn't admit it. If she admitted it, he would continue to talk, and she would start crying. She was ready to talk, but she didn't think she could handle crying. Not yet. 

Joey's answer was a feeble shake of her head in the negative as her eyes began to sting and the muscles in her throat constricted.

"It's because you can't talk to Pacey, isn't it?" he asked, his expression darkening as his mind worked at full speed as he analyzed the situation. "He's shut you out, hasn't he? That's why you're here and he isn't. Pacey usually hates spending any time apart from you, and you wouldn't have left if he had to work, you could've easily spent time with us any other time. Tell me if I'm right, here, Joey. Am I close?"

Tears filling her eyes, Joey squeezed her eyelids tighter, determined not to let them out; losing the battle. Her throat began to feel heavy, and her heart was thumping loudly.

"Joey, am I right?"

A broken sob escaped Joey's lips and she suddenly sat up and swung her legs to the ground, her hands covering her face. She nodded jerkily and pressed her fists into her eyes. "Shut up, Dawson." She whispered brokenly, rocking back and forth. "Leave it alone. P-please stop it."

"Joey, please," Dawson said huskily, dying to hold her, to comfort her, knowing she would push him away. "You have to talk about this; you have to cry. It's tearing you apart on the inside, and it will ultimately be your downfall. And Joey, you're too gifted to fail. You're too special to lose everything. You have to rise above, you have to get over this."

The tears were getting harder to hold at bay. She bit down on her lower lip and rubbed the fists that she ground into her eyes. Dawson shook his head. "I could kill Pacey for letting this happen to you." He muttered.

"P-Pacey has n-nothing to do with this." She whispered, trying one last time to save herself.

"Exactly," he said, going over and sitting down beside her. "He has nothing to do with it. And you're dying inside because of that. Joey, please. Please don't do this to yourself. Please. You're my best friend and I love you and you're killing me, here. Cry, for the love of God, Joey. Please. You've gone through so much in your life, and you've been so strong. But, listen to me. The strong cry. The strong talk about what's bothering them."

Joey looked up at him then; her tear-filled, changeable hazel eyes an anguished, dark blue. "You're the bravest, strongest person that I know Joey," Dawson whispered, brushing strands of hair behind her ear. "And nobody deserves what happened to you. No one deserves to lose not only his or her mother and father but also their child. But most of all, you don't deserve to do this to yourself. By not crying you're not dealing with Joseph's death. By not dealing with Joseph's death, you're not letting him go, you're holding on. And Joey, holding on to him won't bring him back. It will only push away the people you love most. And then you'll lose them too. He's gone, Joey. Joseph is gone."

Joey finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper, "L.J."

The dam exploded.

Three months of repressed pain came surging out in the form of loud, broken sobs. Unable to take it, Dawson cried along with her as she cried, her head throbbing, her heart shattering.

"L.J. . . . My baby . . . My baby," she wailed in agony. "I miss my baby . . . I miss my L.J. . . ."

They stayed like that for hours, until daylight, Dawson's arms a warm circle of comfort, Joey clinging to him like a life-line, crying for her mother, crying for her son, crying for her failing marriage; crying harder than she'd ever cried in her entire life, her whole body jerking violently with every sob that was wrenched from the deepest chambers of her heart.


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine 

With Joey and the girls gone, Pacey realized just how alone he was. He knew he would miss his daughters, but the intensity with which he missed Joey was staggering. The little barrier he'd made to protect himself from the pain of her leaving lasted exactly three hours after she'd left. She had only been gone for a couple of days, but it had gotten to the point where every corner of the house reminded him of her, of making love to her, but that was probably because they'd made love all over the house.

If he thought about it long enough, he could feel her nails digging into his back, her hair brushing his chest. His palms tingled as they remembered how it felt to roam her body, his mouth twitched when he thought of her soft, moist lips kissing him, her tongue enticing him, the junction of her thighs hot and wet under his probing tongue, desperate for him to enter her . . .

It was strange, after all the shit they'd been through over the last couple of months, all it took was for her to go running back to Capeside to bring all of the good memories back; to have him jerking off like a sex-crazed teenager. Pacey spent as little time in the house as possible. He even went back to work. He'd managed to keep his job out of pure luck and coincidence. The coincidence was that he had about a years' worth of sick and vacation days saved up, and the luck was that his boss was a confident young vixen that wanted to fuck him. He was also lucky that she believed him when he promised to get it on with her once he got his act together.

The only problem was, now that he was back, she was starting to make overt passes at him and Pacey was running out of ways to save himself. She was outrageous in her flirting and needed to be stopped.

When Pacey wasn't working, he was taking walks. He walked all around the place, not realizing where he was going, most of the time not even noticing people as they passed by; which was just as well, because every time he did, he invariably saw someone who reminded him of Joey.

When he wasn't walking, he was sitting in the diner, drinking coffee. He didn't even know what the name of the diner was, but every night he was drawn there, and he stayed until it closed.

The third night after Joey left, the girl—Melanie, he had eventually learned her name was—who usually was working whenever he was there, slid on to the stool next to him. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just asked me one. Might as well ask another." He said dryly, glancing at her. She was a pretty little thing with thick, copper red hair, remarkable clear turquoise eyes, and skin that was tanned a deep bronze, something he rarely saw on a redhead. She was very pretty, actually, now that he was examining her. Her body was nice too; she had full, ripe breasts and long, shapely legs that were crossed at the ankles. Compared to Joey, she was a field mouse of course, but without comparison, she was very attractive.

"What's your name?"

"Why?" He asked, curiously.

"I just . . . uh . . ." Caught off-guard, she seemed to rethink something, and Pacey guessed correctly that she abandoned her original question when she asked, "Can I ask another one?"

He smiled at her and shrugged. "You should know my answer to that one." He said, his eyebrows raised in anticipation.

Melanie was momentarily off-guard again. The smile he just gave her took her breath away. It was charming without meaning to be, and it transformed his face. He looked a little boyish and his eyes, which she finally saw were much more blue than the green or gray she'd originally thought, sparkled with amusement. They'd become sad and lonely over the past several days instead of the cold they were before.

"Um . . ." She faltered. She'd hesitated too long for the question to come out as casual and smooth as she had planned it to. Frustrated, she just blurted it out. "Why do you look so sad?"

Pacey's brows pulled together. "Excuse me?"

"I mean . . ." The girl fumbled with her apron with an awkwardness that women as pretty as her usually didn't have. Usually they oozed confidence and self-assurance.

Except Joey. It had taken months of making love to her with all of the tenderness and reverence as well as unquenchable passion that he felt for her, until she got comfortable with the idea that she wasn't the 'too tall girl from the wrong side of the creek'. She said she used the phrase only once or twice aloud, but she thought of it so much that it became a cliché in her mind.

Pacey shoved thoughts of making love to her aside and concentrated on this pretty little waitress who obviously had the hots for him.

"You look so lonely," she hastened to explain. "All the time. I was—I was just wondering why, that's all."

The girl was blushing furiously under her tan, Pacey noticed, and he suddenly felt an almost fatherly affection towards her, the poor kid. "How old are you, Melanie?" He asked gently, trying not to sound patronizing.

"Twenty."

Pacey shook his head to himself, chuckling. She was only five years younger than he, and he felt like he was an old man. Holding out his hand, he smiled at her as she shook it with a grip that was surprisingly strong. "The name's Pacey. Witter. As for your second question . . ." he trailed off and shook his head. "That's a long story better left for when I'm drunk," he paused and raised his eyebrow at her. "Which you're a little too young to join me in getting."

Melanie nodded. "I'm sorry." She said. He slanted her a wry look. "About your problems I mean," she elaborated. "Not the . . . drinking . . . part . . ." She trailed off.

Pacey looked down into his cup. "Ah, well . . . what are you gonna do?" he said dismissively. "That's life."

"It sucks." She agreed, wondering why he didn't take one good look at her and fall in love, like she'd foolishly convinced herself he would once she got up the courage to talk to him. She was suddenly angry with herself. She was sitting there, fumbling over herself like a little teenybopper. And Melanie was no little teenybopper; she had to make sure Mr. Pacey Witter knew that.

"I heard that." He was agreeing to her disapproval of life in general, sipping his coffee.

"And I bet I can drink you under the table, mister."

Pacey began laughing in surprise. He sized her up again. About five foot six, slender, not skinny, her calves and arms toned. She looked fit and healthy, but he was sure this little slip of a girl could do no such thing. "Sure, kid. Don't hold your breath."

"I was Keg Queen at my after-prom party." Melanie told him proudly, defiantly.

He laughed harder. "As I don't particularly like the idea of going to jail, I don't have the inclination to take you up on your little challenge."

Melanie rolled her eyes and shook her head, a half-smile on her face. The gesture was such a typical Joey thing to do that Pacey ached inside. Where had everything gone wrong?

"There it goes again," Melanie said, seeing the gray look of despair descend over his face. "What happened to you, Pacey Witter? I wish you'd tell me."

Pacey smiled and once again shoved thoughts of Joey aside. He looked down into his cup and saw the coffee was finished. "You don't know me, and I don't want to rest my burdens on your pretty little shoulders," he told the girl, holding up the cup. "Uh . . . can I get a refill here? Please?"

Melanie grabbed his cup and strode off. She returned quickly and placed his steaming cup of coffee in front of him. "Let me tell you something, Pacey Witter," she said, her usual confidence coming back now that she'd finally gotten used to the idea of talking to him. "I'm a very good listener if you ever want to talk. Don't forget that."

"I won't." Pacey promised.

And he didn't. It only took three more nights of spending time at the diner and talking to Melanie, that they felt like old friends. It was on the third night that he took her to a café, and over a cup of steaming lattés, he told her what happened.

Joey lay on her guest bed, staring up at the patterned ceiling. It was afternoon, and Dawson had taken the kids off somewhere. The museum or the aquarium or the movies . . . Joey really didn't know. Ever since her emotional outpouring two nights before, Dawson had taken the role of tour guide, dropping everything and whisking the kids off on these daily outings. Until they returned in the evening, Joey was left alone to completely deal with her grief without it being interrupted by having to pretend to look cheerful around the kids. Andrea worked in a health spa in the Multiplex Mega Mall, and Joey had the house to herself.

There was no more liquor in the house, no thanks to Dawson; and despite the new urban quality Capeside acquired, the nearest liquor store wasn't within walking distance. Or at least within a distance Joey was up to walking. And in the name of friendship, Dawson had confiscated her car keys. She was weary, and her body was tired from crying all day and night long for the past several days. Now, she just felt empty. There was nothing inside left to hold on to, except memories. But if she dwelled on those too much, she would start crying again.

L.J. hovered on her mind constantly, but so did Pacey. She missed him desperately, and that was a little surprising, considering what an asshole he'd been acting like for the past several months. But being apart from him, she forgot about the past several months. All she remembered was the happy times. They haunted her at night; memories of him smiling lovingly at her, feeling his arm slide around her waist, protectively, but also with a possessiveness that her feminist side refused to admit that she loved. Assailing her dreams were recollections of the way he would kiss her, his mouth gentle and hungry all at once, his tongue demanding, his hips pressed insistently against hers.

Joey was in a tormented limbo of emotion. If she wasn't severely depressed, missing her old life with her son alive and everything perfect, she was caught up in such a yearning for Pacey that she would end up hot and sweaty, her fingers buried in between her thighs, trying frantically to achieve the heights that only Pacey took her to; only to end up unsatisfied, and then she would burst into tears again. And so the cycle would continue.

Lying on the bed, Joey began to assess her life as of now. Her son was gone, but she couldn't think too much about that, because although it felt like she'd cried an ocean and couldn't cry anymore, she knew she would begin to cry again. And although she'd finally allowed herself to cry, she didn't want to now, not when she wanted to think.

So Joey pushed the thought away. There was nothing she could do about it; he was gone. Now she had to work on not losing everyone else, like Dawson said. Her daughters were fine. She probably needed to pay more attention to them, to make sure they were doing okay, especially Casey. But Casey seemed to be doing better. Her blue- and green-flecked, green-rimmed golden eyes had regained a bit of their former sparkle, and she matched wits with Seven just as well as how Pacey and Joey used to when they were that age; if not better. At four-years-old, in addition to her above average intelligence, Casey had the edge of the city to her advantage when it came to crossing swords with the laid back, five-year-old Seven who grew up in the suburbs of L.A.

So that only left one thing. Pacey.

Her husband.

She had to focus on their present problems instead of dwelling on nostalgic memories of the way things used to be.

Joey stood and strode out to the balcony, taking a seat on the rocking chair. Propping her feet up on the rocking ottoman, she crossed her arms over her stomach and leaned her head back, letting the early autumn breeze cool her face.

Capeside, her childhood home, where the creek ran smoothly and she'd fallen in love. Twice. And only the second time mattered more than anything else in the world. And now . . . now everything was falling apart, her marriage, her life, herself. And she didn't want that to happen.

She wanted Pacey back. He had called a few times, but he spoke only to the girls and didn't ask to speak to her. Refusing to be hurt over that, Joey resolved that when she went home, she would not get into any more arguments with him, she would break down his defenses, and together, they would deal with their grief. And that would be that.

It sounded so simple, that Joey was almost ready to pack up and leave right then and there. But she knew it wasn't that simple, and she had to plan everything she said carefully. She spent the rest of the day thinking about that, about Pacey. By the time Dawson returned several hours later, Joey had carefully formulated a brilliant plan as to what she would say to Pacey, a plan that would fix everything; a plan that she knew she would forget the second she laid eyes on him.

"Hey," Dawson said, coming out on to the balcony. "I brought you something."

Eyebrows raised, she looked at him expectantly. "You didn't have to do that, Dawson." She informed him.

"Of course I didn't." He said. He took her hand and pulled her up. "Come on."

When they went downstairs, the kids were gathered in the living room, playing with a bunch of toys. "Where'd all this come from?" Joey asked. Dawson began to answer, but her daughters saw her, and ran up to her.

"Mommy, look what Uncle Dawson bought us!" Casey said, her little face tanned a deep bronze, but flushed with excitement.

Aliya shoved a Barbie up to Joey to inspect. "Yook!" she said. "Dis mines, Mommy!"

"'Look, this is mine', sweetie." Joey corrected, taking the doll and pretending to examine her closely. It had dark hair and an olive complexion, like Joey and her daughters. "Did you say—"

"But Unca Dawson say I could keep it." Aliya said, her face losing its excitement. Joey was confused momentarily, but then she understood and handed the doll back.

"It is yours honey, you just said a few words wrong and I was fixing them for you." Joey explained; although she did have the urge to revisit childhood, keep the doll for herself, and watch Barbie's perfect little face melt into a gooey mess in the microwave. Ever since she was little, she hated Barbie dolls on principle and bought the girls as few as possible. The principle was that they were anatomically incorrect, which would alter a child's perception of beauty, consequently lowering their fragile self-esteem as they grew into adolescents. Even more abhorrent, to Joey, the dolls promoted anti-feminism, despite the fact that the plastic blonde bombshell managed to become an astronaut, a doctor, an Olympic gold medallist, a veterinarian, as well as many other things that took quite the long time to achieve.

Pacey always used to disagree. He thought that by allowing the girls to play with them, they saw all the things that they could be. In fact, he always argued, Barbie was a Renaissance woman, and because of her sheer versatility, she should be crowned the Queen of Feminists, and should become the international symbol of feminists and the feminist movement.

After one such argument, Joey took Casey's talking Barbie and pulled the string a few times. After hearing a few '_Hey, let's go shopping_'s, '_I can't wait to go to the beach with Ken_', and '_Let's go to the ice cream shop_'s in that annoyingly chipper, airhead Valley Girl voice, he humbly conceded the battle to Joey, and no longer spoke in Barbie's defense.

"Did you say thank you to your Uncle Dawson?" Joey asked, pushing thoughts of Pacey aside.

Casey and Aliya nodded their heads vigorously. "And we got lotsa other stuff too. You shoulda came with us to the beach, Mommy, you woulda had lotsa fun." Casey said.

"It's okay, sweetie. I'm glad you had fun, and you have some great tans," Joey paused and eyed her daughter evenly. "Were you behaving?"

"Yes." Casey said.

"No she wasn't." Seven said, barely looking up from the toy dump truck he was loading a bunch of little plastic Legos in to. Casey glared at him.

"Neither were you." Dawson said in annoyance. He turned to Joey. "They're doing better, though. Now, it's not so much arguments as playful disagreements. They're just like how you and Pacey were, you know?"

"I know," Joey agreed, watching Casey as she stonily gathered up all of her and Aliya's toys and moved them a significant distance away from Seven. "It's weird. That would make Elliott you. And that's even weirder. Don't tell me Elliott loves E.T. and is an aspiring filmmaker?" She asked.

"Far from it. He hates E.T. and thinks that anything that has nothing to do with Pokémon, Nickelodeon, WWF, and Harry Potter is stupid. If I remember correctly, he told me once that he wants to be The Rock when he gets older."

Joey laughed, trying to imagine the quiet little boy as the wrestling star that L.J. himself had idolized. "That's quite the image." Joey said, shaking her head.

"Tell me about it. Come, let me show you your gift."

He led her into the kitchen, and then stopped, his hand on the backdoor. "Close your eyes." He instructed, and waited until she did so. He opened the door, and then began guiding her down the steps. "Be careful." He told her.

The orange-yellow rays of the setting sun hit her in the face. "Dawson, if you've built me another fence, I'm afraid I won't be able to stay here anymore," Joey cracked, slowly taking the last step and then following in his footsteps. "You wife's too nice for me to give in to the zealous temptation of reacquainting myself with your big strong, manly bod."

"No, after Pacey bought you that wall junior year, which quite came in handy when he wanted you to 'ask him to stay' which ultimately made me lose the battle for your affections," Dawson said, guiding her to a stop and then turning her around. "I gave up on grand gestures of undying love. Instead, I got you this. Open your eyes."

Joey's eyelids slowly began to rise, but when she saw what the surprise was, they shot up. "An easel." Joey whispered happily. 

"Not just an easel. The works." Dawson expanded, gesturing to the rather large box beside it with the words '_Art Supply Outlet_' printed on the sides. "Sketchpads, a bunch of different types of paper, paints, oils, pastels, pencils, charcoal pencils . . . and the kids thought I was crazy when I didn't include some Crayola crayons, markers, color pencils, sidewalk chalk and coloring books, so those are in there too."

"I suppose I could give the crayons, markers, and coloring books to the kids," Joey said speculatively. "I have some ideas for the sidewalk chalk and color pencils."

Dawson shook his head. "They won't hear of it. They have their own stuff and they wrote their names on them in big letters. They want you to have it so you could get better."

Joey looked at Dawson, her heart in her eyes. "That was so sweet of you guys," Joey said, giving him a self-conscious crooked smile that was so reminiscent of the younger Joey, he ached. "I didn't know that they built an Art Supply Outlet store here. There's one in The Village, right on West 4th; I love it."

"It's in the Multiplex Mega Mall, where else? I know you hate that place for destroying our town, but, it has its good points."

Joey smiled with him. "I guess," she hugged Dawson tightly. "Thank you for being such a good friend."

"So I did the right thing?" He asked, adopting the eager-to-please wide-eyed puppy look that used to send her heart racing.

"Yes."

"Good. I figured that for a while you wouldn't be able to sketch and paint. But now . . ." Dawson's voice faded away as he watched her intently before finishing, "now I think you're ready."

Joey nodded in agreement. "I think I am too."

"I'll set everything up in your room if you'd like," Dawson offered. "There's great light in there. And I have a bunch of lights in the garage that I bought and was going to use, but they were too dim for filming and too bright for the house. You could use those too."

Joey nodded again. "I'd like that."


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten 

The rest of the week flew by as Joey immersed herself in her art. She'd never produced so many pictures in one week, even when she was taking those art classes in college. It was probably because she began drawing when she woke up, forgot to eat and go to the bathroom, and then crashed into bed late at night once she remembered to sleep. Page after page, canvas after canvas was covered with images. Drawings of L.J., of Pacey, sometimes they were together, sometimes they were pictured along with Casey and Aliya. As soon as she was done, she would tear off and pin-up another blank sheet or canvas and begin again.

Towards the end of the week, she had begun experimenting with the color pencils and the sidewalk chalk along with the usual oils and paints. The result of which were five canvases with art that perfectly depicted her ordeal over the past three months.

When she finished early in the morning on the eleventh day they were there, Joey felt such a strong sense of exhausted relief that she took a nap.

Casey sat in Seven's room, playing with blocks. Aliya was napping, Elliott wasn't there, and she was left with stupid Seven. She didn't hate him anymore though, and he reminded her of L.J. sometimes. They really didn't look alike, but he had yellow hair like him, and they were both five-years-old. Idly balancing a rectangle block on top of a square Casey realized that she hadn't made pretend that L.J. was with her in a long time.

"What's wrong?" Seven asked.

Casey looked up and stared at him. He had dark blue eyes and they were studying her closely. She wondered if she should say something nasty that she didn't mean, but changed her mind. She wasn't in the mood to fight with him.

"I want my brother." She said honestly.

"You have a brother?" He asked. Casey nodded. "He's a kid like us?" Casey nodded again.

"He's five," she answered, rolling a cylinder block around in her hands. "His name's Joseph. We call him L.J. and that means Little Joey." 

"Like Aunt Joey?"

"Uh huh."

"But he's a boy and Aunt Joey's a girl."

"So what? Mines is like my daddy's. You wanna make somethin' of it?" Casey glared, but her heart wasn't fully in it.

Seven knew better than to challenge her when she said that phrase, so he shook his head and silently absorbed this new information. He didn't know that. He remembered his father said something about being nice to Casey because someone in her family died, but he didn't say anything about her having a brother.

"He's still at home with your daddy?" Seven guessed. "He shoulda came with you. Then I wouldn't be stuck with a stupid girl." Casey didn't answer, and Seven frowned. It was no fun teasing Casey if she didn't tease him back. It made him feel mean.

"I'm sorry. You're not stupid." He said. When Casey didn't answer, he scratched his head and studied her. "I'm really sorry, Case. I don't think you're stupid. I think you're great."

Casey raised her eyes to his. "Yeah?" She asked warily.

Seven nodded sincerely. "I like your eyes. They're really pretty," he said shyly, embarrassed to say it aloud. "And I like your hair when it's not in any ponytails and it blows around. And I like the way that you fight with me, and race me places and play with me. You'd make a good boy."

Casey smiled. "Thank you, Seven. My brother said that to me all the time." She said sadly.

"Why didn't he come?"

"He's in Heaven with God. He died."

Seven's eyes widened. He had a dog and some goldfish that died and went to Heaven. "Kids can go to Heaven?"

"Everybody goes to Heaven, stupid. Except bad people."

Seven paused to absorb this too. "I'm sorry your brother went to Heaven, Casey." He said quietly.

Casey shook her head. "My mommy and daddy says that Heaven is a good place. But I'm sorry he had to go this soon. I want him with me." Tears filled her eyes, and Seven saw it. Not knowing what to do as she began crying, Seven thought frantically of what his parents did when he cried.

Afraid that she would fight him if he hugged her like his mother hugged him, Seven reached forward and held Casey's hand. She held it tightly as she cried.

Pacey couldn't take it anymore. Joey had been gone for almost two weeks, and he couldn't even sleep in the house anymore, it was so lonely. He wasn't even in the house for most of his day; when he wasn't working, he was walking around with Melanie, and if they weren't walking, they were at the bowling alley and pool hall with her roommate. He slept in the house a little as possible, but that was still too long. But he had nowhere to go. A hotel room would be even more lonely simply because it _was_ a hotel room.

When he told Melanie of his unrest, she suggested he stay at her place.

"That wouldn't be such a good idea." He said.

"Why not?"

They were seated outside of the Yaffa Café, smoking cigarettes and sipping coffee. Pacey rarely smoked, but he had taken up the habit after being around Melanie, who smoked like a goddamn chimney. It was nice outside, a little chillier than usual; it was definitely becoming autumn. Pacey and Melanie enjoyed taking walks around The Village, but the Yaffa Café was one of their favorite spots to sit and smoke and drink coffee.

"Because . . ." Pacey tried to think of a polite way to tell her that he was afraid she would jump on him in a moment of weakness.

"I'm not gonna rape you, Pacey," Melanie said with a grin, reading his mind. "I just want to help you out. We're friends, right? Think about it."

"Joey would throw a fit if she found out I was having a sleepover with two twenty-year-old refugees from Florida seeking fame on the Great White Way." Pacey told her. Melanie shared an apartment with her best friend Tara, and they both wanted to be actresses on Broadway. Tara looked like a little doll with wavy blond hair and liquid brown eyes and a sweet face that matched her personality. She adored Pacey like an older brother, and Pacey was quite fond of her too.

"Tara's a lesbian, and if Joey finds out, you can tell her that I'm one too. No big deal." Melanie shrugged. Pacey grinned; Melanie would get along great with Jen. Jen lived in Seattle though, and Pacey and Joey didn't see as much of her as they would've liked to.

"Not only do I hate lying to her, she wouldn't believe me."

"Look," Melanie said, taking a pull from her cigarette and then pointing it at him. "Joey ran off to spend time with a guy that not only she, but _you_ also call 'her soulmate'. She was in love with him for what, fifteen years or something? And to top it all off, she told you she wanted a divorce not two days before she dropped everything and split. Now she's been at this guy's house, _with_ your daughters, for two weeks. Am I right so far?"

"Not two weeks yet. But you're right. I don't see your point."

Melanie made a face. "If you don't then you're either stupid, or you're lying to yourself. And we both know you're not stupid, Pacey Witter. Joey has no right to be mad anymore, _she_ ran away, not you. Now, I'm not trying to break up your marriage or anything, I don't mess with that," she said, neglecting to point out the fact that she wanted him even when she saw he had a ring on his finger. "But I am looking out for a friend. If a friend needs to get away from painful memories, then it's my duty to get you away from all that."

"How do you know _I'm_ not a rapist or a serial killer?" Pacey challenged. The idea of moving in with a girl he'd known for a week and a half was ridiculous, but he was close to giving in. The idea of spending one more night in that house was killing him. 

"Because I'm a stupid ass who's going to trust you. Don't torture yourself, Pacey Witter," Melanie said, shaking her cigarette at him. "You're doing enough by not talking to her."

"What do you mean?"

"Talk to your wife, Pacey. She's probably dying to see you by now. Shit, if I was your wife I would." Melanie said unashamedly, tucking back a strand of copper red hair that had freed itself from her ponytail.

"Well, you're not," Pacey said softly, pensively. "And she wouldn't. She's probably thinking of whether or not she should divorce me, or kill me. I was treating her really bad. I screwed up."

Melanie sighed and shook her head. "Spend a few days with us, Pacey," she coaxed, her turquoise eyes beseeching. "We won't even be there much. The rents due soon and Tara and I are working overtime all next week. And don't feel like you'd be a burden, either. You know Tara won't mind. Just come on."

Pacey shrugged and took a drag from his Marlboro Menthol Light. "Sure. It won't be the first or the last time Pacey Witter's every done something incredibly stupid. At least your house is closer to my job. I could call you for protection if my boss keeps hitting on me." He joked.

Rolling her eyes, Melanie snorted. "I really wish you would just tell her to go screw herself up, down and sideways."

Pacey laughed and toasted her with his coffee cup. "You're turning out to be quite the character, missy. What happened to the shy little girl in the diner?"

Melanie shrugged. "She thought she had a tiny crush on this tall, hot guy with blue eyes and a really odd name that rhymes with 'racy' or something like that."

"What happened?" He asked, humoring her.

"He turned out to be an unmotivated loser, a complete idiot, and she figured it would be best to just give up on him. Especially since he didn't even like her, he was head over heels in love with his wife," Melanie shrugged. "So she left and here I am. Crazy, cynical, but most of all, a friend."

Pacey nodded. "Good. I'm glad."

"So you're coming right?" She asked, just making sure.

"For a little while, yeah."

Exactly two weeks to the day Joey arrived, she packed up the last of her things and closed the trunk. She zipped her light jacket up to the middle, tucked her long brown hair behind her ears and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "That's it." She said, smiling at Dawson and Andrea. Andrea, who was holding Aliya, hugged the little girl and put her down.

"Bye, cutie," Andrea said to her. "Stay sweet."

"Okay." Aliya chirped happily, skipping over to Joey and throwing her arms around her legs. Joey smiled at her little girl and tugged gently on one of her pigtails.

She _is_ a little cutie, Joey thought proudly. Her huge hazel eyes sparkled in her chubby little tanned face, and her little pink windbreaker matched the white and pink sneakers she wore, as well as the pink striped white t-shirt she had on under her denim overalls.

Joey looked around for Casey and saw her conferring quietly with Seven and Elliott several yards away. "Ready, Case?" Joey called. Her daughter looked up, nodded, and continued talking to the boys.

"I'll give her a few more seconds." Joey thought aloud.

"I gotta go home now." Casey said reluctantly. Elliott grinned at her, making her heart beat faster. She didn't know why that always happened, and she was a little glad they were leaving so it would stop.

"Good-bye, Casey." Elliott said, hugging her.

"Bye, Elliott."

Seven watched them closely with his sapphire eyes, knowing why he was feeling angry. After Casey had cried in front of him, they went back to the way they were, teasing each other and fighting like always, but there was a little something else there. He felt like he shared a special secret with her, and while Elliott was hugging her, it felt like that secret wasn't special to her.

"Bye, Case." He said, his hand in his pocket, wondering if he should still give her the present he'd gotten for her. When she looked at him with her pretty eyes and grinned, he knew he had to give it to her. "Here. For you." Seven pulled it out of his pocket and thrust it at her.

Surprised, Casey took the gift that was wrapped up in tissue paper. She unwrapped it carefully to reveal a ring. It was one of the rings that you get from the twenty-five cents machine, and it had a gold jewel in the middle. Casey looked up at him in wonderment.

"It reminded me of your eyes." He said, blushing furiously to the roots of his blond curls, crossing his arms over his chest as if protect himself from the warmth of the smile spreading across her face. "You like it?" He mumbled.

"I like it a lots. Thanks, Seven." She said, grinning shyly at him. She didn't know what to do because another kid never gave her a gift before—except her brother. Her mommy always used to kiss her daddy when he brought her flowers and little presents. Not knowing what else to do, she glanced around to make sure the adults weren't looking, quickly leaned forward and lightly kissed Seven's cheek. Before he had a chance to react, Casey pushed him to the floor and, giggling, she ran to her mother, holding tight to her gift, the green and blue flecks in her golden yellow eyes glittering mischievously.

"Yuck," Elliott grimaced. "She kissed you."

"Shut up." Seven said dazedly from his spot on the ground. He stared after Casey thoughtfully, his head feeling dizzy.

Joey saw Casey running up to her and looked at Andrea and Stephen. "I guess it's time to go."

"Good-bye, Joey." Andrea said, embracing her warmly. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Me too. Thanks for having us." Joey replied.

"Anytime." Andrea said generously.

Joey looked over at Dawson and kissed his cheek before accepting the unyielding hug he enfolded her in to. "Good-bye, Dawson."

"Take care of yourself, sweetheart." He whispered. He pulled away first, reluctantly, and looked into her eyes. Joey wanted to tell him how thankful she was for him, how much she loved him, how much everything he did meant to her, but she couldn't. Dawson understood, though. And Joey knew he did.

"Well, I guess I'd better go if I want to avoid rush hour." Joey said, rolling her eyes. She still couldn't believe that Capeside even _had_ a goddamn rush hour.

She picked Aliya up and buckled her into her car seat. Casey climbed up into the seat beside her and Joey helped her buckle up before sliding into the drivers seat. With a honk and a wave, Joey pulled out of the driveway with a new resolve, ready to face Pacey, ready to patch things up.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven 

The fact that Pacey was nowhere to be found didn't change the fact that Joey wanted to be with him. She was annoyed he had taken off and didn't leave a note or anything, but she remembered that she hadn't even phoned to tell him when she'd be home.

Instead of dwelling on his absence, Joey did what she made her decision to do the night before she left Dawson's house.

"_Unique Array of Art_, Troy Morgan speaking." Troy said with the crisp businesslike voice he wanted everyone to answer the phone with. It was a little odd, however, that he would want the phone to be answered that way, considering the eccentric contemporary art that Troy usually showed.

"Hey, Troy. It's Joey." She said, moving the microphone of the phone's headset closer to her mouth and the readjusting the headphones over her ears, feeling like a telephone operator. She stuck the receiver into her pocket. It had been two weeks since she used the phone Pacey had bought. She'd eyed it dubiously at first, but Pacey reasoned that it would come in handy to have a phone that left one's hands free when one had small children in the house. Joey knew it was because he thought it was cool. It hadn't taken long for her to love using it.

"Why hello," Troy said, pleased to hear from her. He liked her immensely from the moment she began working for him, needing extra cash for college. She was dutifully going to become a lawyer or a doctor or something successful that would make a mother proud, but her passion was art. So much passion she had for art, it resulted, because although Troy couldn't convince Joey to sell the paintings and sketches she finally showed him she'd done, she stayed working with him. Joey refused to go on to law or medical school, loving the traveling and the ability to see a plethora of art that came with being an art dealer and the virtual owner of an art gallery which was quickly expanding in fame and growth; because of her.

"Are you home?" Troy asked.  
"Yes I am." Joey said, searching the cabinets for something to feed the girls. There wasn't much. She should've just awakened them when they were passing McDonalds. She pulled out a can of Spaghetti O's. 

"Thank God," Troy was saying in relief. "We really need you here. I mean, _really_."

"I know, but I'm not calling because I want to go back to acting like your employee when we both know I run the place." She teased, pulling out a saucepan. She liked Troy. He was a breathtakingly attractive man in his early thirties, tall, with broad shoulders, a muscular body and smooth honey brown skin. His eyes were dark brown and almond-shaped, and his hair was curly and jet-black. Had Joey met him before she began dating Pacey, she definitely would've gone out with him. Now, they were just great friends.

"Yeah, yeah, we all know that the place would go up in flames without you," he admitted. "So what's up?"

"I want to do it. I want an exhibition."

Troy was silent for a moment. As he absorbed it, Joey located the electronic can opener and plugged it in. When Troy finally spoke, his voice was low and tight. "Did you tell me that you want to do an exhibition, Joey? Please tell me that's what you said. Because I'd be pretty pissed if I had to keep on reminding you how lucky you are that you practically _own_ one of the hottest art galleries in New York and your own damn art isn't in it, and do you know how ungrateful you're being because you actually have an art dealer begging you constantly to have an exhibi—"

"Breathe, Troy," Joey said, grinning. "It's what I said."

"Oh shit. Oh shit. Fuck, we have a lot of shit to do!"

"What did I tell you about your mouth, Troy?" Joey said, trying to sound stern, but was unable to hold in her own excitement as she shook the can too hard and ended up with a splotch of red sauce on her shirt. "Shit." She muttered.

"Fuck that." He said dismissively. He didn't hear the expletive leave Joey's mouth or else he would've teased her about her hypocrisy. "Joey, do you know what this means?" Troy asked instead, seriously. "This means that you are going to be putting up your work. Selling it. Are you sure you're ready for that? Don't get me all excited and then have you back out like you did last time."

"No, Troy. I'm ready. I really want to do this."

"All right. Let's do it."

"I can't believe you're making me do this."

"Look, if you're going to live here, you have to get down with us and do it. Do it, Pacey. Come _on_."

"This is insane, you two. I should've known you two would corner me and—"

"Relax, Pacey. It's not that serious. It's fun."

"It really is fun, Pacey."

"I know you've done it before. When you were younger . . ."

"Sure when I was younger . . . and had more energy to horse around on the floor with two young females, but—"

"It's not horsing around, Pacey Witter, and you know it. It's _romping_ . . . Or—or _cavorting_."

"You know you want to."

"He's _dying_ to. Come on. Come _on_."

"I don't think it will work with only three people . . ."

"Of course it will work. People do it all the time, babe; it's more of a challenge that way. Here, Tara, do it again . . . here, Pacey, look. _God_, it's not hard anymore. You're such a punk." Melanie sighed and blew hair out of face in exasperation.

"What does it say?" Pacey asked.

"Right hand, green," Melanie said dryly. "Can you handle right hand, green? It's a lot safer than the scary, terrifying right foot yellow we had before."

"I think I got it," Pacey gingerly placed his hand on the green circle. Sighing, Melanie and Tara found their own green circles. Pacey looked at his two temporary roommates. "You two have no lives, do you realize that?"

"Hey, you're playing with us." Melanie pointed out.

"And it's pouring outside." Tara added.

"Yeah, but yesterday night it was Saturday, and do you two realize what you were doing? Do you realize that when I came in, you two young women were in here, _twenty_-years-old, on a _Saturday_ night, watching '_Emeril, Live_' on the Food Network?"

"And having a damn good time." Melanie said defensively.

"And the night before, _Friday_ night," Pacey stressed, ignoring her. "I came in here at two in the morning to get myself a little midnight snack, and I found you two reading the computer with sunglasses on and the radio softly playing a Sarah McLachlan album on repeat."

"We were reading a fan-fiction." Melanie corrected.

"And the sunglasses were on so our eyes wouldn't get tired." Tara informed him.

"The music is to set the mood that goes along with the mood of the fan-fiction. And there's nothing wrong with Sarah McLachlan, might I add." Melanie told him primly.

Pacey was lost. "What the hell is a fan-fiction?"

Melanie and Tara rolled their eyes at his sheer ignorance. "Look, just spin the spinner, will you?" Melanie asked.

Pacey grabbed the board and flicked at the arrow with his forefinger. "We're pathetic."

"Pathetic is a relative term." Melanie told him.

"Yeah, a relative term for pitiful. Especially me. Left foot, red. I have no excuse. I'm a twenty-five year old man. I should be out and—"

"Out doing what exactly?" Melanie interrupted, cautiously moving around Tara's head to place her foot on a red circle. "Walking around the city like a zombie, in the rain, missing your wife? Or, instead, would you like to go out in the rain to a café and talk about how much you miss your wife? Hey, how about we go out in the rain to the bowling alley or the pool hall and you can tell us again how much you miss your wife and how much you screwed up? Better yet—"

"All right, I have the picture," Pacey interrupted sardonically, flicking the spinner again. "Right hand, red . . ." Pacey looked up and observed their awkward positions. "Oh, shit. This is going to be a bit of a problem."

"Come on," Melanie cajoled. "Just be careful."

They were careful, but they all ended up sprawled in a heap on the floor. "Screw this." Pacey said, disentangling himself and going over to plop down on the beat up brown couch. Melanie's aviator sunglasses fell to the floor and he picked them up and slid them on his face. "I want to do something else. You guys have any board games besides Twister? I'm the man with board games."

"Yeah right." Melanie snorted, crossing her legs and using the elastic band around her wrist to wrap her copper red hair up into a loose bun. She tried to ignore how hot he looked in those sunglasses.

"I really am, missy," Pacey said indignantly. "I'll kick your ass in some Trouble or some Scattergories or some Life. You got any of those?"

Melanie and Tara looked at each other. Tara shrugged. "I think we have . . ." Melanie paused and thought. "No, we don't have anything."

Pacey crossed his arms. "No Outburst, no Monopoly?"

"Nothing." Tara said apologetically. "Just Twister."

"I'm dying to play Monopoly here. I wanna shut this one's mouth up." He pointed to Melanie.

"Look, Pacey, you suck at everything. Just admit it."

Pacey raised his eyebrow. "I can name a few things that I _really_ don't suck at that you would _love_ for me to do to you," he said arrogantly, standing up and grabbing the jacket he'd tossed over the arm of the couch that night when he came in. He shoved the sunglasses on top of his forehead. "Now, I'm going to get me a Monopoly game, and I'm gonna kick your respective asses."

"Where are you going to get a Monopoly game from?"

"I have kids, remember? I have Monopoly _and _Monopoly Junior at home. Anything's better than Twister. God, you two are pitiful. How can you have Twister and not have Monopoly? Jesus." He gave them a look of such irritation as he reached for his keys that Melanie and Tara began laughing.

"You're going out in the rain at ten o'clock on a Sunday night to get a Monopoly game from your house, Pacey Witter," Melanie reminded him. "I think you're the one that's pathetic."  
"Keep calling me pathetic and see if I come back bearing my gifts." He threatened playfully, giving them a warning look and resettling the sunglasses on his nose. He ignored the return cracks coming from Melanie and Tara as they laughed, and left the apartment. 

Joey stepped out of the shower and tied her terrycloth-toweling robe around her waist before reaching for her toothbrush. She was excited about the exhibition, and couldn't wait until she met up with Troy the next day. He'd come rushing over as soon as he closed the shop, eager to see what he was being allowed to exhibit. He gushed over the drawings she had in the house, but the pictures she'd done at Dawson's house almost made him cry; especially the five drawings she'd called The Agony of Life Series. He declined her offer of Spaghetti O's and left, showering her with praise as he went, as if that would prevent her from changing her mind, which he was afraid of. To soothe his nerves, Joey made him help her pack all of the art he wanted into the trunk of the SUV, and vowed not to open that trunk until she got to work.

The trunk made her think of belongings, and she remembered that she'd left their stuff by the door, as well as the new school clothes and school supplies she'd bought for Casey and Aliya in Capeside.

Telling herself to remember to unpack all of that stuff before she left for work in the morning, Joey wiped the steam from the mirror and looked at herself. The woman staring back at her with nervous and giddy anticipation was going to have her own art exhibition! To herself!

Grinning, Joey grabbed a towel on the way out of the bathroom. Using the towel to vigorously rub at her wet hair, Joey opened the door, clicked off the light and headed out into the dark hallway.

As she passed by the stairs, she heard a sound that made her gasp and flatten herself against the wall. Footsteps. Heavy footsteps were heading up the stairs.

Heart painfully slamming into her ribs, Joey frantically looked around in the dark for a weapon. There would be no way in hell a burglar was going to take her stuff or harm her or the girls. There was a bat under her bed, but that would take too much time to get to. If he heard her and cornered her, she would be trapped in her bedroom with nowhere to go. And there wasn't an one hundred percent chance that she would be able to use that bat on him. He could easily pluck it from her and bash her in the head, leaving her unable to protect the girls.

She was losing time. A light bulb went off in her head. The bat in the bedroom was out of the question, but there was a plunger in the bathroom that could be put to good use! The footsteps were almost to the landing. Once the burglar reached that landing, she wouldn't be able to return to the bathroom, because he would see her. 

Too late. The footsteps paused. Joey squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to make noise as she inched past the shadowy stairwell. The floorboards creaked. Damn!

The footsteps began to hurry up the stairs. Knowing it would be useless to try to act like she wasn't there, Joey raced to the bathroom, and found the plunger in the darkness. When she warily stepped back out, the plunger positioned over her shoulder like a baseball bat, Joey could make out the burglar's shape standing by the steps.

The shadow spoke. "Look. I'm giving you five seconds to put down that weapon and get the fuck out of my house before I rip out your fuckin' intestines and hang you with 'em."

The words would've sent chills down Joey's spine, but she recognized the voice. It was dangerously low and tight with barely controlled anger, but she recognized it. "Pacey." She whispered inaudibly.

"Your five seconds is almost up. Put that fuckin' shit down."

"Pacey, it's me." Joey reached around the wall beside her into the bathroom and flicked the switch up. Light flooded from the bathroom and into the hallway. Pacey blinked in the sudden brightness, but when her words sunk in, he focused his eyes on her, and sharply sucked in his breath. 

Joey was standing in front of him, fright still lingering with the surprise in her eyes. Her hair was wet and wavy, spilling down the sides of her face, and her full lips were parted and moist. Pacey licked his own lips as his gaze traveled down her neck and came to rest on the front of her robe. It was parted, probably from the running she did, giving him a delicious view of her cleavage and stomach all the way to her belly button. It was his beloved Joey standing there, in her glory, forever the seed of his lust and the owner of his heart. The sight of her, in the flesh, outside of his fantasies, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life.

"Holy shit." He whispered.

Joey barely heard the whispered curse. Having come in from the pouring rain he was soaking wet, his jacket clinging to his body, the body that had haunted her dreams for days, the body she wished was with her as she slept alone. For some reason, he had on a pair of sunglasses, and that only made her heart beat faster.

"You're so beautiful." He whispered huskily, slowly stepping forward. "God, Joey. You're so damn beautiful."

Joey didn't flinch when Pacey pulled the sunglasses off and picked her up. Didn't move when he carried her into their bedroom. Didn't step away when he closed and locked the door. She swayed closer to him when his lips pressed to the side of her neck and his hands rested on her hips. His tongue easily found the erogenous zone on the side of her neck and tortured her relentlessly. She tipped her head to the side and gave herself up to the pleasure his tongue and lips was giving her.

As he played with her neck, she slid her hands up his chest and unzipped his jacket. Impatiently, he helped her remove the jacket, threw his sunglasses aside, and yanked off his shirt before tugging on the belt of her robe.

The terrycloth fell to the floor, and Pacey bent his head to her breasts, sweeping the tip with his tongue, making circles around the taut nipple. Stifling a soft sigh, Joey reacquainted herself with his strong, smooth body with her fingers. She flicked his small nipples with her thumbs, caressed his tight ass with her fingers, and rubbed his rock-hard erection through his pants.

Pacey urgently raised his mouth to hers and finally kissed her. The result was a jolt of pure, primitive desire that shot through the both of them; and neither one was sure who it was that moaned. Joey wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself tightly against his erection. Pacey put his hands on her waist and pulled her closer. Opening her mouth on his, Pacey touched his tongue to hers; feeling sparks rush through his loins. Mouths melting together, tongues tangling and dancing, Pacey and the woman in his arms felt electricity shoot down their bodies. 

Joey broke the kiss first, and fumbled the fastening of his pants open, mumbling under her breath. Pacey shoved the pants down along with his boxers and stepped out of them along with his sneakers. Inhaling sharply as she felt his hot skin come in contact with hers, Joey lifted her mouth to his, digging her fingertips in gently behind his ears, holding him close. Standing between her legs, and exploring and devouring her mouth with his tongue, Pacey moved his hands up and down her smooth, naked back, gentle and caressing. Clinging to him, Joey found herself in the middle of one of the most erotic, sexiest, hottest kiss they'd ever shared. Her whole body was on fire.

Pacey kissed her fervently, plunging into her mouth with his tongue, retreating, and plunging again. Feeling himself grow so hard it was beginning to hurt, Pacey slid his hands down past her waist and pressed her firmly against him; feeling light-headed as he came into contact with her soft, warm wetness. He swore weakly. Fire shot through their bodies, and Joey bit down on her lip and squeezed her eyes tight.

Lifting her up against the wall, Pacey smoothly entered her, moaning as he went. She gasped and wrapped her legs around his thighs. He paused and swallowed hard, before he lowered his head and began sucking on her neck. Joey leaned her head back against the wall. She whimpered and tried to move her hips, but because of their positions, she really couldn't. Pacey knew this, and he took advantage of the situation.

His erection still deep engorged in her, throbbing and hot, aching for movement, Pacey suckled at her breasts, then her neck again, and then her ear, ignoring her mouth that he knew wanted to be kissed.

"Pacey," she said shakily. "Don't do this to me." Having him inside her, filling her, without him moving, was torture. Instead of complying, he pulled out of her and let her stand, his hands roaming lightly over her body. Joey stood unsteadily on her feet, feeling lost and bewildered, almost unaware as Pacey knelt, and caressed the flat plane of her belly, then her legs, and her thighs. He dipped his fingers in between her thighs, teasing her until she moaned in satisfaction. Then, he leaned forward and replaced his fingers with his tongue, flicking in and out, back and forth, sucking gently at the hardened nub; causing her to cry out and clutch his head and press herself closer to him.

Pacey stood up, and Joey grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the bed. He sat down and Joey straddled his legs. He kissed her hotly, before twisting them horizontal on to the bed and entering her again. Joey wrapped her arms and legs around him and drew his lower lip into her mouth and lightly sucked on it. He began moving with slow, easy thrusts, moaning against her lips. She tightened her legs around his thighs and her arms around his neck as he circled his hips.

Increasing his rhythm, Pacey thrust into her hard, deep, and swift, driving them towards their peak. Joey moaned and arched herself against him. He drove himself into her faster and harder, and together, they reached their earth-shattering climaxes that lasted an eternity, crying out and moaning in pure unadulterated ecstacy.

Pacey was asleep, lying next to Joey, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his head resting on her chest. Joey had one arm around his back and was lightly stroking his forearm with her fingers. She would've moved a little, to give him some more room, but anytime she shifted, Pacey unconsciously tightened his arms around her.

Joey smiled tenderly as she gazed down upon his face, which was illuminated by the light of the moon. His long, spiky eyelashes lay on his flushed, slightly tanned cheeks. His mouth was slightly red and swollen from their kisses. Joey bent her head and gently touched the top of his head with her lips and rubbed her face in his hair. 

She was trying to go to sleep. They'd made love twice, and she was tired, but there was too much going on in her mind for her to do so. She let her mind wander to the second time they made love that night.

They'd napped for a few minutes after the first time, and he'd awakened her by trailing a kiss from her navel down to the juncture of her thighs. She woke up moaning softly as he explored her throbbing wet center with his tongue; and she arched her hips closer to his mouth as she fully awoke.

Her climax was strong and came within minutes, her hands sliding through his dark wavy hair, biting down on her lip, clutching reflexively at his head. When he was finished, she grinned at him, turned him on his back and returned the favor. Before he came, he moved away, lifted her up on to the bed and against the pillows and pushed himself into her. Her legs eagerly wound around him, her fingers digging into him, her mouth melting with his.

He rocked into her fast and hard, so hard that her head would bang into the headboard if Pacey's hand wasn't protecting it from doing so. He slid the fingers of his other hand into her silky hair and kissed her deeply, his tongue demanding, drinking her dry. Her legs formed a viselike grip around his thighs as she jerked upwards to meet his every strong, smooth thrust.

They came together like lightning, Joey's fingers raking across his back, drawing blood, Pacey groaning with the pleasurable pain. Their cries escalated as, together, they rode the rocket of almost unbearable rapture, until it burst with a shower of stars, Joey jerking convulsively, Pacey shivering uncontrollably as he exploded deep inside of her, his face buried deep into her neck. For a while, they didn't move.

That was a few minutes ago. Thinking about it made Joey want to do it again, she wasn't quite so tired anymore. Joey wondered if Pacey would want to wake up. She moved out of his embrace, and that time, he let her go, sleepily rolling over on his back; exactly where Joey wanted him. She kissed him softly and with growing insistence until she felt his response. When he opened his eyes, they were smoldering with desire and Joey straddled his thighs. He had an erection, and Joey smiled to herself; so much for sleeping.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve 

Pacey woke up with a smile on his face. The night before had been remarkable, and his smile widened as he sleepily lifted his head to see if Joey was awake yet.

Joey was indeed awake. She was so awake that she wasn't even there. Pacey wasn't alarmed, figuring she was feeding the kids; but then he noticed the note. His heart began to thump in his chest with apprehension as he reached out a shaky hand and lifted up the slip of paper.

_ _

_Pacey,_

Look, the girls and I are at Bessie's. Please don't follow me. I hope you understand why. I'll call you. Promise.

_Love, Joey_

Pacey was shocked. And his shock quickly gave way to fury. He couldn't believe that she left him. What the hell happened?

No. It was ridiculous. There was no way she would do this to him again. Not after last night. Not after he finally heard her voice and seen her face and made love to her. They had to talk. And he had to see his little girls.

Throwing back the covers, Pacey grabbed his discarded jeans and yanked them on. Grabbing a t-shirt out of his dresser and stepping into his sneakers, Pacey pulled the shirt over his head as he stormed out of the house.

Pacey arrived at Bessie's in twenty minutes, an amazing speed. Especially when it usually took about twice that long to get there when there was that much traffic. He parked a least a foot away from the curb and jumped out.

He took Bessie's steps two at a time and impatiently knocked on the door. Bessie opened it, looking annoyed. When she saw it was him, she tried to close the door; but Pacey shoved his foot into the doorway.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Pacey asked her angrily.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" Bessie retorted. "What's wrong with you? Don't force yourself into my house."

"I wouldn't if you didn't try to lock me out. God, you act like I'm trying to snatch them all up and spirit them off to the underworld." He said, bewildered, frustrated and angry.

"She's my sister, Pacey. And she said she didn't want to see you." Bessie said, nevertheless releasing the pressure she was putting on the door and opening it wide.

"And she's my wife, Bessie. We're _married_." Pacey said tightly, waiting for her to move aside now that she was no longer trying to keep him out.

Bessie sighed resignedly. "She isn't here."

Pacey barely had enough time to react to the information when Aliya shrieked, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

The three-year-old flew out from behind Bessie and threw herself at him. "Pick me up!" She demanded. Pacey swallowed his anger and picked her up and held her tight.

"I missed you, baby girl." He whispered, kissing her temple.

"I missed _you_, Daddy. My birt'day is in dwee days." She informed him, holding up three fingers.

"That's right, cutie," Pacey said, realizing that he'd completely forgotten about it. Casey's birthday was in another two months. Aliya was going to be four. Casey was going to be five. God, kids grow so fast. "What do you want me to get you?"

"I wan' chock-lit cake an' banilla ice cream. An' I want my bruddah to come to my birt'day pardy too."

Pacey's heart slammed into his ribs. He looked at Bessie, who closed her eyes and looked away. How could one explain to their three-year-old that their brother could never go to any more of her birthday parties? He'd thought that Aliya forgot about L.J., since she hadn't mentioned him in weeks; at least not to him.

"I'm sorry, baby. L.J. can't come," he said finally. "God really loves L.J. and wants him to stay in Heaven with Him."

Aliya frowned. "Tell God to let him go. _I_ want him here with _me._ I don' want him in heaben."

"I can't tell God what to do, baby. Nobody can. But if you think about him sometimes, he'll never go away. Right, Bessie?" He asked his sister-in-law, looking at her for support.

"That's right." Bessie said thickly.

"I think about him lots an' he's gone now." Aliya pointed out.

Pacey almost wished his daughter wasn't so smart. "He is, but not his memory. His memory will be here forever." Pacey said, trying to ignore the pain. He knew that Aliya didn't fully understand what he was talking about, but she nodded. "What else do you want for your birthday?"

"A bike. A two-wheeler like Alex's bike."

"That's too big for you. How about I get you another tricycle? Or a bike with training wheels, would you like that?"

Aliya nodded. "Good." He said, starting to put her down but she tightened her arms and legs around him. "Where's your Mommy?" He asked, shifting her back into his arms, glancing at Bessie. Bessie glared at him.

"I dunno." Aliya said her eyes wide and innocent, lifting her shoulders in a shrug.

"Where's Casey?" He asked, figuring Casey would know.

"Inside." Aliya answered.

Pacey looked at Bessie. "Well, now that you've successfully impeded me from reconciling with my significant other, are you going to prevent me from seeing my other daughter too?" He asked, staring her down.

Bessie shook her head no. She felt bad for Pacey, but she also knew that Joey was in quite the agitated state when she knocked on her door early that morning, carrying shopping bags filled with school supplies and school clothes as well as bags of clothes. Without a word, she dumped the bags in Bessie's hallway, and ran back to the SUV to free Aliya from her car seat and Casey from her belt buckle.

When she rushed back, holding the girls by their hands, Bessie stopped her and demanded to know what was wrong. "I have to go to work," she said, chewing on her lower lip. "I'll be back later. If Pacey calls or comes over, tell him I'm not here. Don't tell him where I went, either. I gotta go."

And with that, Joey kissed the girls and left. And Bessie was left with the impression that Pacey had done something wrong. But she couldn't keep him from seeing his daughters.

"Casey's in the kitchen with Alex." She told him quietly, stepping aside.

"Thank you."

Carrying his other daughter and listening to her chatter on happily about 'Unca Dawson house', Pacey sought out his other kid. Casey was sitting at the kitchen, a pair of headphones enveloping her small ears. She had her hands over the speakers, holding it to her ears, and was bopping her head to the sound.

"What's up, Alex." Pacey said.

"Hey, Uncle Pacey." Alex greeted, lifting his hand in a salute. He was a good-looking kid, tall and mature for his age, and smart as a whip. He'd been skipped a grade and still found the work so easy that going to school would be boring if he wasn't such a popular kid. His skill at sports made him popular with the boys, and his light caramel complexion, big brown eyes and easy charm made preteen girls with emerging hormones hearts race.

"What's she listening to?" Pacey asked Alex, gesturing to his daughter.

Alex gave Pacey an impish grin. "Eminem."

Pacey grimaced. "DMX and Jay-Z I can take. But please don't let my young and already ill-behaved daughter listen to Eminem."

Alex smiled. "Would you rather she listen to Brittany Spears, the Backstreet Boys and the Spice Girls?"

Pacey pretended the gag as he set Aliya down. "Ugh, Eminem it is. For now." He walked over to Casey and kissed the top of her head. She whirled around and her face lit up like the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree.

"Daddy!" She screamed, tossing off the headphones, scrambling off of the chair and jumping into his arms. "I missed you. Did you miss us? We were at Unca Dawson's house. There was a boy there named Seven, an' he gave me a ring, an' Mommy was sick there, but she's better now. And Unca Dawson bought us some toys and some candy, and there was a Megaplex Multi Malls there, but I missed you a lots, and Unca Dawson's nice, but I missed you more. I like you better than Unca Dawson. Did you miss me? Did you know I'm gonna go to kimdergarbden? It's in Plublick School Nineney-Five like preschool. In three more days I'm gonna—" Casey stopped abruptly and took a deep breath.

Pacey laughed and hugged her close. "I really missed you a lot, Case." He said huskily, gently tugging on her ponytail. "Where's your Mommy?"

"I dunno. She just said to be good for Aunt Bessie."

Pacey sighed and pressed his forehead to his daughter's. All of his anger suddenly drained from him, filling him up with desolated defeat. Where was she? What _happened?_

"What's wrong, Daddy?" Casey whispered. "Are you okay?"

"I just miss your mom." Pacey said softly. He lifted his head and smiled at her, bending down to scoop up Aliya, who had attached herself to his leg. "So tell me about the Multiplex Mega Mall. You're tellin' me they built one in Capeside?"

"Yeah!" Aliya said in excitement.

"Uh huh," Casey nodded her head vigorously. "Mommy was real mad 'cause idiots made her town a city. An' she said that in bescroseck she didn't hate it anymore. Do you?"

Pacey stared at her, puzzled. "Huh?"

Troy Morgan stared blankly at the gallery when he walked in. The normally casual atmosphere of the airy space was gone. In its place was a nervous tension as the workers rushed about, doing whatever duties they had to do.

He walked into the office and noted in surprise that his secretary wasn't eating her breakfast and chatting on the phone like she usually was, she was actually busy doing work. He walked into the inner office that he and Joey shared and stopped short. Joey was standing in front of her desk, on the phone, yelling angrily and rapidly to someone in another language, coffee in hand, hastily writing something on a pad of paper. Troy knew Joey could speak Spanish and French fluently, and he knew she drank coffee, but it was the fact that she was yelling that threw him. He didn't think he'd ever seen her yell, and he definitely never had the benefit of seeing a true-blue Josephine Samantha Potter Witter fit of anger, and its velocity was astonishing.

She threw the pen down and said something slowly and threateningly in Spanish; her already intense hazel eyes were piercing like daggers. Troy knew enough to understand what the Spanish meant, and he balked and unconsciously brought his hands to his balls in a protective, defensive gesture.

She listened, and her face lost some of its tension. "Yeah, whatever." She said in English before slamming the phone down. She grumbled and wrote some more on the pad of paper. She took a swallow of coffee, and picked up the phone again.

"Good morning?" Troy said the greeting as if it were an inquiry and Joey rolled her eyes.

"I got Manuel Santiago to lower those absurd prices for the wax. He was trying to go back on our deal," Joey told Troy distractedly, dialing numbers. "Arrogant tyrannical little—May I please speak to Yancey Burnham? . . . This is Joey Witter from _A Unique Array of Art_ . . . He isn't in any meeting. He's been in a meeting for a past month," Joey scoffed. "Please tell him that just because I haven't been after him for the past two weeks, does not mean I've forgotten about our little bargain. Tell him that if he doesn't speak to me immediately, I will be forced to undertake some very drastic measures concerning his internal organs, and I know he doesn't want me to go there . . . Thank you."

Joey lowered the phone to from her ear, looked up at Troy and glared at him. "And why didn't you tell me that Yancey Burnham didn't send us the money for the bulbs yet?" Joey demanded. "Jesus, Troy, we can't just let him get away with swindling us out of three thousand dollars."

"I know that, but I—"

"God, do I have to do _everything_ around here?" she interrupted in exasperation. "It's a wonder that—Yancey? . . . Well, it's been quite a while . . . Uh-huh. Where's my money, Yancey?" She asked brusquely.

Troy took a seat as his desk and watched in admiration as Joey managed to get Yancey Burnham, parsimonious owner of a chain of well-known, high quality art supplies, vow to wire not three but _five_ thousand dollars to them by three o'clock.

"Asshole." Joey muttered, slamming the phone down. Bringing the coffee to her lips and taking a sip, she consulted her Rolodex and began writing. She picked up the phone again.

"Joey, can we talk?" Troy asked her.

"Not now, Troy, I'm busy." She said absently, dialing the number and shooting him a glance.

"We were supposed to be talking about your exhibition today." Troy insisted.

Joey waved her hand dismissively at him. "We'll discuss that some other—Hello? Yes, this is Josephine Witter from _A Unique Array of Art_," she said crisply. "Is Lakeisha Price in?"

Troy sighed and left the office. At lunchtime, he cornered her and demanded she speak to him. She'd kept busy all morning, clearing her desk of the work that piled up over the last two weeks, making phone calls, rearranging files, ordering products, and transferring files to the computer. Joey was a quick and efficient worker, but this was ridiculous.

"I'm busy, Troy." Joey said, barely glancing up from the computer monitor.

Troy walked behind her and turned off the screen.

"Troy!" Joey protested in annoyance.

"Look," Troy said firmly. "What's wrong with you? Last night you were fine. You were excited and happy and fun. Now you're acting like if you don't get all of this boring work done before the day is over, you'll spontaneously combust or some shit."

Joey rolled her eyes at him and crossed her arms. "Let's not be so dramatic, Troy. Okay?"

"What happened?" He asked. Joey raised her eyebrows as well as her shoulders and said nothing. Troy rolled his chair over to her desk and leaned forward. "You're overworking yourself, Joey. Tell me what happened when I left last night that has you acting like this."

"Like what?" She asked defensively.

"Well," Troy said speculatively. "I would repeat it but you told me not to be dramatic."

Joey sighed and uncrossed her arms to tuck her hair behind her ears. After a long moment, she took a deep breath and quietly said, "Pacey."

Troy's almond-shaped, dark brown eyes narrowed warily. "What about Pacey?"

Hiding her mouth behind her cup of coffee, Joey told him, "Well, he came in last night and before we could really talk about what happened between us, we . . . kind of . . . fell into bed together."

Troy sucked in his breath and made a face. Joey nodded in agreement. "I know. It was the stupidest thing for us to do, but—we—I . . . we just couldn't—"

Troy held up a hand to stop her, nodding. "It's okay. I understand." He sighed and rubbed his face. "So what are you going to do?"

Joey shrugged and her head slowly shook from side to side. "I don't know." She paused and pressed her lips together. "I need some time . . . to think—to . . . I don't know, it was so sudden and it was so . . . _incredible_ that . . . I guess it just threw me. I mean, I played our meeting again over and over in my head. I knew what Pacey would say, and I knew what I would say, but . . . never had I imagined that . . . what happened . . . would happen." She cringed a little and played with her fingers.

Troy licked his lips and crossed his arms. "Can I give you some advice?" He inquired.

"Please do."

"Don't think too long," he said simply. "Don't let another two weeks pass. It's okay for you to panic, but Joey, not always when something isn't planned out in minute detail means that it's going to be a complete disaster. You got me?" He asked. Joey nodded slowly as she absorbed this. "When you were at Dawson's," Troy continued, "you must have received some closure about what happened with your son, because you look a lot better. Did you?"

Joey nodded again, ignoring the pain in her heart when he said 'your son'. Troy went on, "See? That trip was spontaneous. Maybe it would take another spontaneous action to set things right with you and Pacey."

Joey looked down into her lap. Troy stood up and rolled his chair back over to his desk. "Think about it." He said quietly. He began to leave, but Joey called him back. He looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

"If Pacey calls . . ." Joey began, trailing off because she knew Troy knew she was going to ask him to tell Pacey she wasn't there. Troy nodded his understanding and left her sitting there.

And Joey did think about it. She sat there for an hour, doing nothing, weighing her options. Either she could just go see Pacey and begin talking and hope they don't ruin everything by arguing or sleeping together before they could work things out. Or, she could wait and carefully plan what she would say so that there would be no chance of them arguing or sleeping together before they worked things out.

After a long deliberation, she chose the latter. Not only would that give Pacey time to get over the anger she knew he was feeling about her leaving him that morning, it would lessen the chance of any mistakes. Quietly, she stood up and went to pick up the money that Yancey Burnham sent.

And after work, before she went back to Bessie's, she called to make sure he wasn't there. He wasn't. Joey breathed a sigh of relief and left.

Pacey let himself into the empty house. He was tired of walking into an empty house. He wanted to walk into the house and have it be filled with laughter and love, the way it used to be. Miserably, Pacey started up the stairs to the bedroom, but stopped. He couldn't make it up those stairs. He couldn't lie in the bed where he'd made love to Joey.

Depressed, he shuffled down to the den and sat by the phone. He sat there all night long, staring at the phone, waiting for Joey's call, which never came. He slept on the couch by the den, and called in sick at work the next day, not wanting to leave the house just in case Joey called.

After calling in sick two days in a row, Pacey had no other choice but to go back to work. He couldn't keep taking days off. His boss was horny, but not a pushover. On one of the rare occasions that the phone did ring, it was his boss, all but openly saying that if he didn't get his ass back to work, she would fire him; and he was damn lucky that she wanted to screw his brains out, or else she wouldn't have bothered to call. Otherwise he would've had to figure it out for himself when he decided to return to work and found all of his stuff was thrown out of the thirty-second floor window.

So reluctantly, Pacey got ready for work on the third morning after he and Joey had made love. Even more reluctantly, he went into their bedroom to get dressed. He avoided looking at the bed, and dressed quickly. As he was on his way out of the room, however, the phone began to ring. He froze, his heart slamming into his chest. He hesitated, and then picked up the phone with shaking hands, trying to squelch the flare of hope he felt.

The little spark of hope he'd been trying to smother ending up dying a long painful torturous death when the caller was from some kind of company trying to reach Joey about some kind of merchandise for the gallery. However hope came rushing back when he hung up the phone and tossed the pad where he'd written the message from the caller aside. The gallery.

Eagerly, he picked up the phone and began dialing. The hope he'd felt died even a more vile death than its predecessor when he was coolly informed that Joey hadn't been at work in weeks. He asked to speak to Troy Morgan, but was told he wasn't in yet.

Discouraged, Pacey slumped out of the house to his car, not knowing what he was going to do, deciding that it was too painful and too hard to figure out.

Casey absently played with the ring on her finger with her other hand. She was nervous about the first day of school. What if nobody liked her? What if she didn't make any friends at all?

She looked up at the five other people at the table with her, her mom, her sister, Aunt Bessie, Uncle Bodie, and Alex. All of the grown-ups and Alex were talking about something, and Aliya was sitting next to her, eating. Her sister looked pretty happy while she ate her cereal. Aliya wasn't nervous about going to preschool. Lucky her. Everybody would love her. They always did. She got a lot of presents at her birthday party yesterday.

Casey noticed her mother looking at her so she picked up the spoon she'd left in her cereal and lifted a heap of Lucky Charms into her mouth. Her mom went back to talking to Aunt Bessie so Casey dropped her spoon back into her cereal and sighed as she chewed.

She missed her daddy. He stopped by at Aliya's birthday party with a brand new tricycle for Aliya and a huge teddy bear for her. He couldn't stay long and Casey was upset to see him go and was surprised when her mom stayed in the kitchen the whole time he was there. If he was there now, he would tease her and tickle her and make her laugh so she wouldn't be nervous anymore. He would hold her hand tightly as they walked inside to school so she would feel protected because he was so big and strong and he would never let anything bad happen to her. Neither would her mom, but her daddy was bigger than her.

She felt her eyes tingle, they way they did whenever she was going to cry, and she blinked fast to stop it. She would be big and strong like her daddy. Well, not big, because she was little, but she would be strong like him. She wouldn't let anyone bother her or make fun of her. And if they did, boy they would get it.

"Are you finished eating, Case?" Her mom asked.

Casey nodded. "I'm too nerbis to eat." She admitted.

"Nervous?" her mother repeated. "Don't you worry, Casey, you're a good girl. You'll make lots of friends and have a lot of fun. Watch, when I come for you later, you won't want to leave." She was smiling at her, and Casey felt a little better.

"Okay." She said uncertainly.

"Can we go t'skoo now, Mommy?" Aliya asked.

"Yes," her mom said, nodding. "It's time to go."

Before she, her mom, and her sister left the house, Alex pulled her aside and squatted down. "Listen, if anyone bigger than you messes with you, promise me you'll get me. And I'll take care of their stupid asses." He told her.

Casey giggled. Alex always said bad words around her, and if she ever made a mistake and said one around him, he never told on her, he always laughed. She'd said a few around Seven if Aliya wasn't there, and he'd been amazed and asked her to teach them to him. And she did. "Okay. I promise, Alex."

"Good," he stood up and ran his fingers through one of her pigtails and tapped her cheek with his finger. "Good luck, shorty."

"Thank you."

Joey climbed back into the car and shot Bessie a wry look before wiping the tears from her eyes. Bessie watched her knowingly, commenting, "I know you didn't embarrass Casey by crying in front of her teacher and classmates."

Joey shook her head as she buckled her seatbelt. "Nope. I waited until she went inside."

"Did she cry?"

"Uh-uh," Joey said proudly, looking past Bessie to the elementary school where she'd left her daughters. "She marched in there without hesitation. She's a good kid."

"She's a great kid," Bessie corrected. "What about Aliya? Any trouble with her?"

"None. She barely paid me any attention. Even when I left to take Casey to her class." Joey said, a little hurt by that. She looked around before pulling away from the curb and starting down the block.

Bessie hesitated before saying, "Pacey would be very proud."

She watched as a somber look settled over Joey's face as she drove, her eyes unflinching, her gaze steady out of the windshield.

"He would be." Joey agreed finally.

"You can't keep doing this to him, Jo," Bessie sighed. "You have to call him. Didn't you promise you would?"

"Yes I did." Joey answered, her voice still soft. Bessie stared at her in concern, and touched her arm. Joey glanced at her.

"Call your husband, sis."

Your husband . . . Tenderly, as she slowed to a stop at a red light, Joey thought back to her wedding day. Dawson was Pacey's best man and Bessie was her maid of honor. Jen and Andie were bridesmaids and Bodie gave her away while Alex was the ring-bearer. It was a beautiful wedding, and their wedding night was unforgettable. God . . . Pacey . . . she loved him so much.

"I'm not going to call him . . ." Joey decided slowly. Bessie frowned and began to think of another way to reach her. Before she could speak however, Joey added, "I'm going to go home. Tonight. I'm going to talk to him face-to-face."

Bessie sighed in relief. "Good."

Joey smiled a little, nervously. "Yeah," she said quietly, more to herself. "Everything's going to be good."

The first part of her day was fun. Casey made a bunch of friends in her class and played and sang songs and learned a lot. But there was this one girl. She had straight yellow hair and green eyes and a Mickey Mouse watch. She was mean, and so were her two best friends. Casey didn't like her at all. Her name was Jessica Warner and she liked to talk about how many toys she had.

Casey tried to avoid her, but for some reason, Jessica Warner hated her, and bothered her all day long. She snatched a toy away from her, asked to borrow her brand-new crayons and broke three of them, spilled red finger-paint on her brand new khaki pants, crumpled up her math worksheet, tripped her on the lunch line, made fun of the color of her eyes and called her names.

After their nap, at snack-time, Casey was sitting with a group of her new friends at their table, eating the apple and cookies her mom had packed for her snack. She was reaching for her juice box when it was knocked over. Casey looked up and glared, knowing who the person was.

"Stop bothering me, shiteater!" Casey said, loud enough for only Jessica and her friends to hear. Her friends and Jessica gasped in shock.

"Ooh! I'm gonna tell on you, ." Jessica threatened.

Casey jumped out of her chair. She was sick of Jessica bothering her. "Do it an' I'll hit you," Casey told her tightly. "Go on and tell on me so I can hit you."

Everyone was quiet and staring at Casey and Jessica, and the teacher was helping someone at the other side of the classroom. Jessica hesitated, looking at her friends. Her friends were looking at Casey. Casey glared at Jessica.

"Miss Travis!" Jessica yelled, walking past Casey.

Furious, Casey grabbed her, whacked her across the face with her open fist as hard as she could and gave her leg a brutal kick. Jessica fell to the floor and began crying really loudly and everyone began babbling at once. "Casey!" The teacher shouted angrily, rushing over.

Casey burst into tears. "I want my daddy!" She wailed.

Ms. Travis sighed in exasperation as she regarded the two troublemakers. One pale and blond and green-eyed, her face red as she cried, especially where she'd gotten hit; the other olive-skinned with dark wavy hair and golden eyes that were shimmering with blue and green flecks as tears poured from them. Ms. Travis sighed again and squatted down to examine Jessica's face and leg, both of which were rapidly bruising.

"Stupid." Jessica bawled.

"Ugly bitch!" Casey cried back.

The teacher gasped in shock. "_Casey Witter!_"

Later, Casey ended up in the principal's office, waiting for her mother to pick her up, while Jessica was sent to the nurse. Jessica would be sent by later.

Casey tried to stop crying, but she really couldn't help it. She was going to get into big trouble and her daddy wasn't there to make her feel better. Casey felt miserable. And when her mother walked into the principal's office, looking very mad, Casey knew it was just going to get worse.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen 

Pacey trudged into the house, feeling incredibly low. His boss worked his ass off. He took off his jacket and threw it in the general direction of the couch. He was tired and depressed and coming into the empty house that used to be so filled with love and laughter brought him down lower. The fact that it had begun pouring rain on his way home didn't help either. And the fact that the last time he'd seen Joey had been while it was raining was particularly detrimental to his emotional state.

He hadn't eaten all day and wasn't hungry then, so, almost automatically, Pacey undid the first few buttons on his shirt as he headed for the den where he'd been keeping vigil by the phone for two nights past.

The den was warm and inviting with a big, soft couch and a matching sofa with big fluffy throw pillows. The carpeting was lush and dark blue to go with the blue- and cream-striped upholstery. The walls were painted cream with blue patterned borders. A big screen T.V. sat in front of, and diagonally from, the couch and the sofa.

Pacey walked over to the sofa and picked up the folded blanket he'd been sleeping with for two nights. He went over to the couch and plopped down on it, removing his shoes and propping them up on the oak coffee table. He picked up the T.V. remote from beside him on the couch and clicked the T.V. on. Looking over to the stand beside the couch to make sure the phone hadn't somehow removed itself from the cradle, Pacey covered himself with the blanket and watched television.

It was six o'clock on a Wednesday night and nothing was on and nothing was going to be coming on but stupid teen angst dramas. Too depressed to be annoyed, Pacey flipped channels and settled on a nature program about deer.

After about a half an hour, he was glad he'd thrown all the bottles of liquor out of the house. He was in need of a good double shot of Scotch. A couple of double shots, actually. During one scene in the show, in which one buck was fighting another for the affections of a doe, the reality of his situation hit him.

He was almost twenty-six years old. A mere fourteen weeks ago, he had an exceptionally brilliant, undeniably talented, incredibly beautiful wife, a little boy who looked exactly like him with his mother's demeanor and smarts, and two gorgeous, smart daughters, one incorrigibly impish who took after him, the other sugar sweet who would never hurt a fly.

Now, what seemed like eons later, he had a son who had been killed before he made it to the first grade, two little girls he barely saw, and a wife who walked out on him talking divorce, came back and made love to him, and then stormed back out on him with a promise to call that she didn't keep. He was alone in his house as it rained like hell outside, sleeping on the couch, waiting for her to call, watching television, wishing he had some alcohol. The fact that he had admonished Joey for using alcohol as an escape route made him realize that not only was he a pathetic loser who screwed up his marriage, he was a hypocrite, which he hated. So he was a hypocrite who hated hypocrites, which made him even more hypocritical. And he was sinking further into depression.

Pacey's blue eyes clouded over as he gazed blindly at the T.V. screen, holding the remote with both hands, thinking about his wasted life, thinking about how he managed to screw up everything. No matter how much Joey had told him otherwise, not matter how much he told himself; he was still old Pacey Witter, black sheep fuck-up loser. If a leopard rolls around in the mud to hide its spots, they're still there, and the mud would be washed off sooner or later. And Pacey had been rolling around in the mud for years, so to speak, and now, as the rain pounded relentlessly on the windowpane, the mud was being easily washed away from him.

The words fuck-up and loser echoed in his mind with no indication of fading away. He rolled his lips into his mouth and pressed down tightly, his eyes stinging with tears he refused to shed. His father would be incensed if he knew how much crying Pacey had been doing since L.J. died. His relationship with his father had much improved from the time when Andie had temporarily left Capeside back in the summer after sophomore year, but he still had a macho thing about masculinity, and crying was definitely not on Chief Witter's list of manly man activities.

Still, even knowing that, his eyes became blurry, and he blinked fast, fighting it, trying not to give in to the weakness. But his struggling was futile; his gloominess drained his strength.

As a tear slid down his cheek, the doorbell rang, making his heart slam into his ribs and his crying stop. For a moment, he was frozen as the sound of the doorbell resounded throughout the house, and an incredible wave besieged his senses with the sheer beauty of hope. Joey.

And he was in motion. Throwing off the covers, Pacey wiped the line of moisture from his face and tossed aside the remote. As he rushed to the door he thought frantically of what he was going to say that would make her forgive him. Something intelligent and well thought out and sincere that she would love. But all he could think of telling her was that he loved her and that he was sorry. No other words could come to mind but I love you, Joey, I'm so sorry, I love you, I love you so much.

When he reached the door he took a brief moment to take a deep breath before opening it.

Melanie.

Pacey felt his spirits plummet like two hugging elephants leaping from the Empire State Building. He stared blankly at her, not knowing what to say, wondering why in hell she was there. It was no secret how she'd found where he lived; there was only one Pacey Witter listed in the Manhattan edition of the White Pages.

"Pacey, thank God!" Melanie cried, and her arms went around his neck. "I'm so glad you're okay."

She was dripping wet from head to toe, and was making him the same way. He disentangled her arms from around his shoulders. "Yeah," he said dully. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Melanie stared at him, searching his face, her hair plastered to her head, strands of gleaming copper red clinging to her cheeks. "Why didn't you call or anything? When you didn't come back Tara and I were worried sick. Almost everyone at work all of a sudden had some kind of life-or-death or family crisis so I had to take over their shifts. If I hadn't had to work my ass off we would've come searching for you a long time ago. What the hell happened to you?" Her turquoise eyes looked genuinely concerned, and he felt a twinge of guilt for not contacting them. They were his friends, after all; they'd helped him and listened to him and provided him with a home when he couldn't bear to be in his own.

"Come in." Pacey said monotonously, stepping aside. She hated cabs, so he knew she'd walked all the way from her house to his. Why the girl didn't have an umbrella was beyond him. And he couldn't just tell her to go back simply because he wanted to be alone and the only company he craved was that of his wife and daughters.

Melanie hesitated before stepping inside. Pacey silently led her through the house and Melanie, quieted by his mood, followed him mutely to the den. "Stay here. I'll bring you something to wear and then I can put your clothes in the dryer." He said listlessly.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

Melanie stood in the middle of the cozy room, watching Pacey leave. Something was definitely wrong with her friend. He looked so . . . lifeless. When he left, she wandered to the mantel, looking at the framed pictures that crowded the top. There was the requisite wedding photo and Pacey looked handsome in his tuxedo, beaming proudly and lovingly at his admittedly beautiful wife. Her hair was long and glossy, wavy and dark, with huge, sultry, downward-tilting hazel eyes and a full, pouting mouth. There was another picture with the couple, obviously on a picnic, Pacey looking incredibly sexy in a wife beater and khaki shorts, sitting on a blanket, his arms around Joey, who was sitting cross-legged between his legs, giving a dark-haired baby girl a bottle. In front of them a blond little boy was sitting, stuffing a sandwich in his mouth. A little girl was napping beside them.

It was a very poignant picture, and they were a beautiful family. She looked at the other pictures, baby pictures and toddler pictures of the kids, the little girl with the beautiful gold eyes, Casey; the cherub-like little girl with eyes like her mother, Aliya; and the little boy who looked just like Pacey, L.J. There were also many family pictures with different combinations of the five, sometimes with other people that Melanie couldn't identify. When Pacey talked, it was only about his wife and his kids, and sometimes about his brother and his oldest friend—Dawson, if she remembered correctly. Melanie sighed and looked at a picture of L.J. in a black and white soccer uniform, his arm around a yellow and black soccer ball, grinning proudly. It was incredibly sad that tragedy took that gorgeous little boy away from Pacey and Joey.

Pacey returned a short time later and handed her a bundle of clothes. He'd taken off the shirt she got wet when she hugged him, and was wearing only a wife beater. She tried to ignore it without success. "Change in here. I'm going to get something to drink. You want something?" He asked.

Melanie nodded. "Yes, please."

Pacey left again. Melanie looked at the clothes he handed to her, a white t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. With a pang, Melanie remembered that a white t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants had been what Pacey was wearing the first time she'd seen him. Angry because she still had feelings for him, Melanie mentally scolded herself. A _friend_. That's all she was. And she told herself firmly that she was quite okay with that. And as she changed, Melanie decided that she was going to figure out what was wrong with him. Tonight. And she was going to try to help him.

Pacey walked slowly to den, carrying two glass mugs full of soda with ice, hoping Melanie had enough time to change. Catching her in her birthday suit would not be a good thing. Not that he didn't trust himself, he prided himself in his fidelity; but he already felt a little like he was betraying Joey by having Melanie in the house without her there. But he couldn't just send her back out it the torrential rain. It wouldn't be right. And although he was currently down in the dumps, he sure hadn't lost his sense of human decency.

He knocked and waited for Melanie's okay before he opened the door. She was curled up on the couch in the clothes Pacey had provided for her and the blanket over her lap. He saw her pile of clothes on the floor beside the couch and reminded himself that he had to take them to the dryer. "I want you to tell me what happened." She said firmly, staring him down.

Pacey drew his brows together and handed her a mug as he sat down next to her, forgetting about her wet clothes altogether. "What are you talking about?"

Melanie took a sip before answering, "When you left, you were in a good mood, and you were intent on having a good time playing Monopoly. Now, you look like how you did when I first met you."

"And how was that?" Pacey asked, trying to decide if he should tell her, knowing he would.

"Lifeless. Unresponsive. Impassive. Get a thesaurus and pick any synonym to 'not the real Pacey' that you like."

Pacey sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. "I need a drink," he said resolutely, standing, not caring anymore if he was a hypocrite. "A really hard one. Come with me, missy. We're taking a field trip to the liquor store."

"Ready to put my tolerance to the test?" Melanie questioned, quirking an eyebrow at him. Finally he was showing a little bit of life. Just a little, however.

"Hey, do whatever you want. I'm not gonna stop ya."

Joey sighed and looked at the clock on her desk. Eight ten. She should've been on her way out by eight, but she'd promised Troy the day before that she would close up, and she had forgotten all about it.

Cupping her chin in her hand, Joey impatiently tapped her pen on her desk and bounced her heel up and down on the balls of her feet as she gazed at the computer screen. She made a mental note to demand from Troy that they buy faster modems for the office computers. It had been a laborious day, and Joey was eager to finally talk to Pacey and work things out. They'd been both stubborn and passive for way too long.

Joey grabbed the mouse and began moving it around and clicking until she got to FreeCell. Before she began playing the card game, however, she looked at the download time for the program. Eighteen minutes seemed way too long. It had been downloading for a half hour already, and it all it would do was update the existing program.

She sighed heavily and returned to FreeCell. She played the game absently; she was a pro. Instead, she thought of her daughter. Casey. She had a fight the first day of school. Joey punished her accordingly, but secretly she was pleased her daughter didn't take the shit that the other little girl had been shoveling at her. Joey would've done the same thing, minus all of the swearing, however. When they were little kids, Pacey had done all the cursing, mostly just to make Joey blush. Casey claimed she heard the words on T.V., and Joey told herself to monitor the shows Casey watched more closely.

"Isn't there something else you should be doing besides playing FreeCell?" Troy asked, walking into the office, carrying a bunch of folders. He hadn't even glanced at the monitor, but he knew her well.

"Not right now," Joey retorted, still playing the game, her chin still nestled in her hand, her elbow still propped up on the desk. "And if you hadn't tricked me into closing, I would be home by now, talking to Pacey." 

"I didn't trick you. I told you I had a date. You offered. I accepted," Troy shot right back, filing the folders away; something Joey would usually do. "So don't blame me. How was I supposed to know that tonight was the night you decided to go back to your husband?"

Joey rolled her eyes and changed the subject. "We need a faster modem. If I don't die before this finishes downloading, I'll definitely be certifiable. Guaranteed."

"So get one," he said easily. "You handle everything we buy around here."

Joey grinned at him. "I really should own this whole place."

Troy glanced over at her. At twenty-five, Joey certainly made her mark on the place. Without her, it would still be an unnoticed art gallery, its individuality outshined by the sheer size of the competition. "Maybe." He agreed.

Her grin widened. "Without me, you'd be completely lost." Joey teased cheekily. Troy grinned at her. She was tired, but her hazel eyes sparkled and he could see a dimple on her chin peeking out from the cover of her palm. When she wanted to, she could be cute as hell.

"I wholeheartedly concur, kid."

Pacey and Melanie finished their tenth shot of Bacardi 151 at the same time, and Pacey automatically refilled the plastic shot glasses. "Ready for more, liddle girl?" He asked belatedly, already holding out the small cup for her to take.

Melanie reached out a trembling hand. "I tole you I was Keg Queen at m'party prom after." She garbled, trying concentrate on getting her hand to stop that damn shaking so she could then figure out which of the two floating cups was the real one, and which was the double. Shaking her head a little and squeezing her turquoise eyes shut, she got them to stop seeing double, and greedily, Melanie took the cup. She paused and stared down into the golden brown liquid. She hesitated before drinking. Pacey had already downed his.

"Dring _me_ under th' table," Pacey scoffed. "Ha!"

Melanie set the cup down and struggled to get back up on the couch and spread the covers over her legs. How she'd gotten to the floor was beyond her. Bacardi 151 was a hundred and fifty one proof, too close to proof of rubbing alcohol for comfort. Even in her drunken state, she knew she had no intention on letting alcohol poison her to death. Pacey reached down, grabbed her cup and downed it.

Pacey's attempt to drink away his melancholy was not working. Every time he looked at Melanie he wished she was Joey, and every time he drank down a shot, he remembered how she'd looked when he came home after being at a hotel for six days; sprawled across the bed in gray bike shorts and a gray sweatshirt, drunk as a mule. She claimed his presence made her sick and then proved it by upchucking the contents of her stomach; the day after that she suggested divorce; and three days later she'd taken off. For Dawson. She _always_ ended up running to Dawson, he thought bitterly.

"That's 'cause you weren't there for her, fuck-up." Pacey drunkenly reminded himself, unaware he was speaking aloud.

"What?" Melanie asked, his voice lifting her from the cloudy depths she'd been gratefully sinking into.

"I weren't—wasn't there for her." Pacey repeated, bleakly. "Loser, fuck-up, asshole, stupid loser. Me. That's what I am. I really ffffucked up. I ffffucked up big time this time."

"Joey?" Melanie asked dumbly, her head rolling around on her neck of its own accord. One minute she was staring up at the ceiling. The next minute she was gazing at Pacey's socks without having remembered moving at all.

"Who else?" Pacey asked. "Dawzins always there for her. Dawzins duh go-den boy. Dawzins the hero. Big D. He's the man. Me? I'm the loser."

Pacey thought of the things that almost made him cry earlier. His son. His daughters. His marriage. It was all going down the drain. All of it.

The alcohol was definitely not having the affect he'd hoped for. Instead of making him happier, there he was, getting more depressed, unable to stop talking, unable to stop the steady build up of tears.

"Alla my life this time I tried t'be bedda. I tried t'be bedder f'Joey. I tried not t'let the mud wash from my spots," Pacey said fiercely, his eyes stinging. "It din't work." He looked at Melanie helplessly, searching desperately for her help, for her understanding; his face tormented, his expression bleak. "She hates me now. I don' have nothin' now. I don' have a son, I don' have a wife, an' she's gon' take the girls from me and live wif Dawzin and his wife, and she's gon' join their fam'ly and leave me by myself in this goddamn fuckin' house with all of it's goddamn painful fuckin' painful ass fuckin' memories.

"I _hate _it here wifout Joey," he said fiercely, glaring at the ground, tears sliding down his cheeks. "I _hate_ not bein' wif her. With them. I miss my fam'ly. My kid. My boy L.J. My fuckin' God, he's dead. I loved him so much. I loved them all so much. I love her. And them. I love her so much it hurts. It hurts like hell how much I love her. An' now she lef' me an' she's never gon' come back." Pacey was crying openly by now, his hands in tight fists in his lap, his short fingernails digging into his palms in frustrated agony.

Melanie stared at him powerlessly, his emotional breakdown taking her aback. Soon, though, her instinct came through her intoxicated mind, and she scooted closer and put her arms around him, his tortured anguish wrenching her heart and making her cry with him. Pacey hung to Melanie tightly as he cried uncontrollably, stammering sentences drunkenly, this tiny boat of comfort in a raging sea of misery, loneliness and despair.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen 

She couldn't believe it. For a wild moment Joey thought she was in a dream—a nightmare. For a crazy second she thought she was in the wrong house. But no. It was her house. And it was her den. And it was her husband. The husband she'd been waiting all day to come home to and finally talk to. The husband she had missed desperately. The husband she'd made love all night long to a mere three days ago.

Joey closed her eyes briefly and opened them again and took in the scene, trying to remain calm. Her heart pounding madly in her chest, the pain coming in unbearable waves, Joey blinked rapidly to stop the tears coming to her eyes and clenched her hands into tense fists.

_Stop it!_ Joey warned herself. Think. Think slowly. Be calm. Take in the scene calmly. Be calm. Calm.

Pacey. Girl. Sleeping on the couch. Under the goddamn covers. In each other's fucking arms.

Okay.

Wait. Rewind.

Pacey.

Girl.

Sleeping on the couch.

Under the goddamn covers.

In each other's fucking arms.

Joey's first impulse was to jump on the intertwined couple and rip them apart with her bare hands, starting with Pacey. She actually started forward to do so, but her eyes fell on a pile of clothes and a bottle of alcohol. Her second impulse was to smash the almost empty bottle over Pacey's head and then use the broken jagged edge to slit first his, then the bitch's throat.

She burst into tears instead. Feeling weak and stupid for crying, furious and betrayed for the obvious, Joey turned and stumbled blindly out of the room and out of the house.

Without really knowing what she was doing, Joey peeled out from in front of her house and drove like a bat out of hell for three hours straight, no destination in mind. As soon as she got into the car she stopped crying. Her mind was tortured by images of Pacey making love to that girl, screwing her brains out, kissing her and touching her and making her scream with ecstacy the way he did with her.

Bright lights announcing vacancy at a motel caught her attention and Joey slammed on the brakes, did a squealing U-turn, and pulled into the parking lot, stopping in a parking spot with a screeching halt. She leaped out, and still on autopilot, still seeing the Pacey and the girl having sex, Joey got herself a room, and was soon standing in the middle of it.

There, she came to consciousness. She was in a small motel room with a double bed and a T.V. and a couch and a table with a couple of chairs flanking it. And her husband was cheating on her.

And Joey was furious.

But moreover, she was heartbroken; and with that emotion taking over anything else, Joey approached the phone.

Bessie hung up the phone, a perplexed look on her face. She set the phone back on the cradle and settled back in the bed, staring at the piece of paper with the numbers she'd written on it."What happened to Joey?" Bodie asked sleepily.

Bessie looked at him blankly, going over the phone call she just had with her sister. She sounded calm, too calm; her voice was tight and slow, and Bessie could detect a slight tremor in it. She calmly told Bessie that she was in a motel in Long Island, and she gave her the phone and room number. "Don't tell Pacey okay?" she'd said. "I'll be back. In the morning, tell the girls I'm sorry, and I'll be home soon."

"What happened?" Bessie had asked her.

"Don' wanna talk about it." Joey mumbled.

"Joey, you know you're my sister and I love you and the girls; but you can't keep dumping the kids on me and taking off, especially without even giving me an explan—" The sound of the dial tone resounded in her ear. Exasperated, Bessie called back, but the phone was busy.

Bessie looked at her husband. "She's having another crisis," she answered finally, leaning up and turning off the lamp. "She wouldn't tell me. Go back to sleep. We'll find out tomorrow."

The sound of the phone ringing broke the silence in the house. Andrea Leery stirred in the comfort of her husband's strong arms. They'd made love twice before falling asleep, and the ringing of the phone was interrupting her deep, sex-induced sleep.

"I got it." Dawson's sleepy voice said.

"No, you rest." Andrea stopped him, kissing his cheek. She turned over on her back and stretched out an arm to get the phone, glancing at the glowing clock on the nightstand.

"It's a quarter to two in the morning, so this better be good." Andrea said with uncharacteristic irritation. Interrupted sleep could do it to the best of them.

The voice on the other line was shaky and desperate, "Andrea, can you put Dawson on? Please?"

"Joey?" Andrea asked in disbelief. "Joey what's wrong?"

Dawson sat up beside her and took the phone out of her hands. "Joey?" he asked urgently. "Are you okay?"

"I-I . . . I'm sorry Dawson . . . I need you. Please. Come. I'm sorry . . . I'm really sorry but . . . but Pacey . . ." She paused and Dawson heard her draw a deep, unsteady breath. "Can you come Dawson? Please?"

"All right Joey," he said, throwing the covers off and striding naked across the room to the dresser. "Is anyone hurt? Are you hurt?"

"Not physically . . . Well, unless you call ripping my heart out and stomping on it physical pain." Joey said sarcastically. Dawson nodded to himself as he pulled on a pair of boxers followed by some khaki pants. Good. If Joey retained her wit, she wasn't over the edge yet.

"Where are you?" He asked, flicking on the light and searching for a pen and a piece of paper. Andrea got out of bed and, knowing what he was searching for, helped him. She handed him a pen from her night table and he located a scrap of paper.

"What happened? Is Joey okay?" Andrea asked earnestly.

Dawson was writing on the piece of paper, and he held up a hand to indicate that she should wait. "All right, I'm coming right now." He hung up the phone.

"No one is hurt, honey," Dawson assured her. "Pacey just did something incredibly stupid and Joey needs me."

Andrea was a little annoyed. She knew that when they were younger, Dawson and Joey were always there for each other; but he had a family now, and she lived several hours away. It wasn't like he could just row across the creek to her house. But she knew that if she said anything to Dawson, he would be angry with her for her lack of understanding.

"So what are you going to do?" She asked, watching him throw clothes into a carrying case.

"I'm going to go to her. She's holed up in Long Island. I'll call you tomorrow, okay, honey?" He kissed her. "I love you. Tell Seven I love him and I'll be back in a couple of days."

He zipped up the bag and headed for the door. He hesitated. "Is this okay with you? I mean, you don't mind do you?" He asked, looking anxious to leave but also anxious not to hurt her feelings.

_A little. Doesn't make a difference because you'd go anyway._ "No I don't mind, Dawson. You're a good friend." Andrea said. _Too good of a friend sometimes._

Dawson walked back over to her and kissed her again, lingeringly. "Thank you for understanding, Andrea. You are the most wonderful woman in the world."

"Hurry up, Dawson," Andrea said. "And hurry back to me."

Dawson nodded and left.

Joey had left the door open. When Dawson walked in, she was sitting on the edge of the double bed, staring straight ahead at the wall. "Jo?" He asked carefully, approaching her. He had gotten to Long Island in record time, easily finding the motel in Babylon. It was almost six o'clock in the morning and the golden rays of dawn filtered in through the open vertical blinds covering the windows that offered a breathtaking view of the parking lot.

Joey looked up at him, slowly. "I could kill him," she said coolly. "I could blow his fucking brains out."

Dawson winced and tried to assess her mood. He eased down on the edge of the bed beside her. "No you couldn't, Jo."

"Right now, Dawson," she said evenly, staring him deep in the eyes. "I could do anything I like. I could easily commit a double homicide without batting an eyelash, and you," Joey paused and smirked, "you couldn't stop me if you tried."

"So why don't you? Go on and do it." Dawson egged, testing her to see if she was serious. He would find out what Pacey did once he calmed her down, although he already had a pretty good idea of what it was.

Joey returned her intent gaze to the wall. After a long, tense moment, she murmured, "Casey and Aliya."

Dawson nodded wisely. "So you called me up in the middle of the night to inform me that you were contemplating murdering two people, one of whom is your husband, the other remains unknown." He stated.

Again there was a long silence. Joey stared at the wall and Dawson studied her profile. She was sitting with her back ramrod straight, her hands folded in her lap, ankles crossed, her long dark brown hair tucked behind her ears and her head slightly tilted to the side. Dawson astutely assumed that she'd found out the Pacey was cheating on her, given the circumstance that she wanted two people dead instead of just Pacey.

He could see a tear forming in the corner of her eye, and saw the knuckles of her linked fingers turn white. "I called you because I'm so angry that I'm going to spontaneously combust," Joey's strained voice said to the wall. "I called you because at the same time I feel this inconceivable sense of hurt and betrayal that's tearing up my insides."

Dawson frowned, feeling his friend's pain. He reached out and covered her hands with his own. "I'm glad you called, Jo." He said quietly.

"How could he, Dawson?" Joey asked the wall, every high school insecurity coming back to taunt her. "How _could_ he? He was probably glad when I went to your house," she assumed bitterly, torturing herself, fighting the sting of tears. "He was probably fucking that bitch to my house and fucked her in _my_ bed. They probably did the deed all over the place. They were probably just screwing and laughing at me. That bastard. Jesus, Dawson, how _could_ he?" She turned to him, burying her face in his shoulder, her pain winning over her anger as she cried. Dawson wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly.

"I feel so _ugly_, Dawson." She sobbed.

"You're far from it, Jo."

"And stupid," she continued, not choosing to hear him. "I feel so _stupid_. I t-trusted him. I loved him so much. He was my life, Dawson. My _everything_."

Dawson listened to her in an angry silence. What the _hell _was Pacey thinking? This was the second time Joey cried in his arms because of Pacey, in the same damn month. Dawson did not appreciate Pacey making her cry.

Gritting his teeth, Dawson wanted to beat the shit out of him. Instead, he just held Joey as she cried, making little soothing noises. After a long time, Joey raised her haunted, beautiful eyes to Dawson's, and she spoke hesitantly. "Do . . . do you think that . . . we can sleep together?"

Dawson's brows snapped together in shocked bewilderment. Joey hastened to explain herself. "I mean, I just . . . I just want to turn back time and . . . I don' know . . . I just want to go back before any of this happened. Remember? . . . Just you and me and a movie and your bed . . . I just want to sleep with you."

Dawson stared at her. His best friend. They'd been through so much together. She was so strong, so brave; he loved her with an unswerving intensity, and between them was a bond nothing or no one could break.

"Okay, Jo."


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen 

_"Give it up, Lorenzo! You're the only one left. The Leone family has been annihilated!"_

_"Usin' big words on me Tony Tubs? Well fuck you. And fuck all of the Castellis!"_

The explosion of rapid gunfire did it. Pacey swore and opened his eyes wide enough to give the offending television screen a scathing glare. What the hell was some cheap bullshit dime-store pathetic excuse for a gangster movie doing on at six-thirty in the morning? And moreover, why the hell was it so goddamn _loud _for chrissake?

Grumbling, he threw off the blanket covering him and after searching for the remote with no success, Pacey leaped up, and turned it down manually. His rapid movement made him dizzy, and he swayed a little on his feet. He had one mean bitch of a hangover.

Pacey sunk back down to the couch and propping his elbows on his knees, buried his face in his hands. His fuzzy mind was piecing together the events of the night before.

He had been missing Joey and the kids. Melanie came over. Together, they got shit-faced. Although Pacey didn't remember, what was said exactly after that, he did remember, with embarrassing detail how much pain he'd been in, how hopelessly depressed he'd been . . . and still was. He also remembered someone comforting him. Melanie. She was a good friend to him and Pacey looked around, for the first time realizing the she was gone.

No, not gone. Pacey watched Melanie walk in, her hair wet, dressed in her wrinkled clothes from the night before.

"'Morning. I hope you don't mind I took a shower." Melanie informed him as she walked over and located her sneakers. "Damn they're still wet." She muttered to herself, glaring at the offending footwear and slipping them on.

"No. It's okay." Pacey replied vaguely. Melanie's attention was focused on the screen. "I love this movie." She muttered.

While Melanie was captivated by the horrible movie filled with overdone stereotypes that would make _"Godfather, Part 3"_ look like Academy Awards material, Pacey absently studied her. She was there for him last night and as embarrassing as it was for him, he had to at least thank her.

So, hesitantly, Pacey did so. "Hey, Mel." He said quietly. Melanie looked at him, beaming. Pacey gestured to his surroundings. "Uh . . . thanks, y'know. For last night. I appreciate it." Pacey paused and then broke into a charming smile. "So any time y'need a favor," he said half-jokingly, "y'know who to call."

Melanie pulled her wet hair into a ponytail, securing it with the ever-present elastic band around her wrist. "Thanks . . ." She trailed off, lost in thought. She had to make sure she was doing and saying the right thing. "Can we talk for a sec, Pace?" She asked, turning off the television.

Pacey hoped she wasn't going to say anything stupid. The fact that she really liked him wasn't exactly confidential. He was extremely grateful for her comfort, but was in no mood to go through an issue with her. Maybe it was selfish, but he'd had enough soul bearing.

"Sure," Pacey said guardedly. "Speak your mind, girl."

Melanie took a deep breath and sunk down on the couch next to him. "Last night, I realized something," she said carefully, forcing herself to keep her eyes on his. "I'm utterly and stupidly in love with you Pacey."

Fuck! Pacey struggled to keep his face expressionless as his mind raced, searching for the best way to tell her he wasn't interested. Maybe, if there wasn't Joey . . . but there was. And as long as she was around, no one could take him away from her. No one.

"Now," she continued, "I know that you're totally in love with Joey, and as much it hurts me to say this, you need to go back with her Pacey. After listening to you last night, it's the best thing for you right now. No more excuses. And the only way _I_ can have you, is if you two are completely through, and you're not. Not at all."

Pacey sat, staring at her, absorbing what she'd said. Melanie was right; he and Joey weren't through. And it was stupid of him to let their separation go on for so long.

"That's true." He said, a new resolve building.

Melanie nodded. "I know I am," she said, standing. "So I'm gonna go. I have to be at work in an hour."

Pacey got to his feet and stared down into Melanie's turquoise eyes, which were shining with unshed tears. He started to say he was sorry, but he stopped himself just in time. What would he be apologizing for, the fact that she liked him? That would only hurt her feelings more. What else, the fact that they couldn't be together? Nope. He wasn't sorry at all. He wouldn't trade Joey for all of the stars in the sky, all of the gold in Fort Knox, all of the oil in the Middle East, all of the sand in the—

"I'm leaving now, Pacey." Melanie said. He stopped her and gave her a hug.

"Thank you Melanie." He said sincerely. Melanie hugged him back, a little tighter than necessary, because although Pacey didn't know, this was good-bye. She wasn't about to hang around, being his friend when she wanted so much more. Usually, she wasn't the type to wait for something if she knew it was utterly unattainable. And she knew that Joey wouldn't appreciate someone so obviously in love with her husband being in their lives. And unless Pacey divorced her and came crawling back to her, she wasn't going to keep on pursuing him. It wasn't right.

Melanie let him go a split second before he released her. She looked into the blue eyes that she loved, and fought back tears. "Good-bye, Pacey."

"See you later, Mel." Pacey said distractedly. Melanie noted that his mind was already somewhere else, most likely on a certain slender brunette with huge hazel doe eyes and full lips.

No, you won't see me later, Melanie thought as she turned to let herself out of the house, her heart aching, willing him to call her back and tell her made a big mistake and that he loved her; tears slipping down her cheeks because she knew he wouldn't.

Pacey didn't notice Melanie's sorrow.

Pacey was going to get his life back.

He took a refreshing shower and dressed quickly in khakis, sneakers, and a white cotton t-shirt. On his way out his grabbed a Pop-Tart and a couple of aspirin to take care of his hunger and his headache.

Determined, feeling like his old self, Pacey drove to Bessie's. He knocked on their door hard, and Alex answered. "Hey Uncle Pacey," he said, looking confused. "Aunt Joey ain't here."

"Where did she go?"

Alex shrugged. "She was here. But she didn't come back after work. Mom and Dad were talking about it earlier, but when me, Casey and Aliya came down for breakfast they stopped."

"Where are they now?"

Alex didn't know exactly whom his uncle was talking about, so he told him where everyone was. "Mom took the girls to school and went to work. And Dad just left for work."

"So who's taking you to school?"

Alex gave him an offended glare. "Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, man? I take the bus. I ain't no baby. Whatchoo think this is?" He said in his best 'I'm from tha streets bitch, fuck whatcha heard' voice.

"My fault." Pacey mocked lightly, holding out his hands in a gesture of apology. "Listen. I'll give you ten bucks if you help me find out where Joey is. She told me," he added dishonestly, "but I forgot where it was before I could write it down."

Alex was smart, and he knew that if Uncle Pacey wasn't lying outright to him, he was definitely leaving a lot out. It didn't make any sense that his aunt went to Capeside for two weeks, came back, stayed home one night, came to his house the next morning, stayed for a while, and then took off again, without taking Casey and Aliya, and without Uncle Pacey.

But, ten bucks was ten bucks he didn't have, and surely his mom wouldn't mind if they looked around her room. Pacey was family after all, looking for his wife. He wasn't some stranger.

"Come on." Alex said, waving him inside. "We can start in Mom's and Dad's room. I'll bet you it's in there."

Without much effort, Pacey hit pay dirt. On Bessie's nightstand, next to the cordless phone, was a pad of paper with Bessie's handwriting. On the paper was hastily scrawled, "Joey. Outlook Motel. Babylon, Long Is., room 107."

Long Island? Wondering why the hell she was all the way out there, Pacey copied the information on another piece of paper from the pad and tore it out. Pocketing the information and taking out his wallet, Pacey slipped Alex a twenty, and patted his shoulder gratefully.

"Thanks, man. Let's keep this between us for now, okay?"

Alex shrugged, already spending the money in his mind. "A'ight. Thanks for the cash." He said easily. Yeah, there was definitely something up. But hey, it was none of his business. It wasn't like his aunt and uncle were having any marriage trouble. And if so, they'd bounce back. Those two were crazy in love, no one could come between them, so what did Alex care?

Pacey immediately left, declining the tempting offer of some leftover breakfast that Bodie'd cooked. The farthest he'd been out in Long Island was to the mall, Roosevelt Field, in Carle Place. And also Andie and her husband Peter's house, in Mineola. He had no idea where Babylon was. But he knew he could find it. All he needed was the exact address, and a quick call to information took care of that.

It took Pacey an hour and a half to find it, and after pulling into a space in the parking lot, Pacey turned off the car and sat for a moment. This was it. Joey would be pissed because he'd come looking for her, but if he knew Joey, that is exactly what she wanted. Deep down, she wanted him to go after her, just like how he wanted her to come back to him when she left. And so he did it.

Pacey slid out of the car and headed for an entrance. He made it to room 107 easily. The thin beige carpeted hallways were empty save a housekeeper doing her rounds pretty early. It was only nine-thirty or so. Figuring it was around the hotel's checkout time, Pacey told himself to stop procrastinating and just lift his fist and hit the door a few times. Not too hard because he didn't want to startle her awake if she was still asleep, Pacey took a deep breath and knocked.

He waited. The housekeeper moved closer, noticed a sign on the door she was in front of and moved on. Pacey knocked again. The housekeeper got to the next door and noticed the same sign. Pacey waited. At the next door, right next door to 107, she knocked and yelled, "Housekeeping!" before using her master key on the door.

Exclamations were heard. Fumbling apologies and backing away, she closed the door sharply. She rummaged into her cart and plucked a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door. Straightening, she looked at him inquisitively. He froze, not knowing what to say. Dumbly moving aside, Pacey watched the housekeeper shoot him a funny look and raise her hand to knock. He recovered his wits and stopped her before she could do so.

"My wife is sleeping and I locked myself out," Pacey improvised. "She's pregnant and very sick so I don't want anyone to shock her out of her sleep. She really hates that. Can you just knock very softly and kind of whisper 'housekeeping' or something?"

The housekeeper stared blankly at him. Her gaze quickly turned arrogantly speculative, as if he just mentioned that he was flying neon pink Hungry, Hungry Hippo to Saturn in a few minutes. Before he could try to convince her of his story, she ignored him and wordlessly unlocked the door, gestured him inside with an uninterested wave before moving along. It was perfect. Not only would he avoid having Joey answer the door with a scowl on her face, he didn't have to beg Joey to let him in if she refused to talk to him.

Giving himself this one last moment to collect himself, Pacey waited until the housekeeper turned the corner before entering.

Joey was not having the restful comfortable sleep she'd been hoping for. She stirred when she thought she heard Pacey's voice, but remembering what he'd done, her sleep was completely ruined.

"SONOFABITCH!" Pacey's thunderous voice roared from the entrance, stressed by the fierce slamming of the door. Joey snapped upright, shocked to see Pacey, a mix of feelings rushed her. Briefly, she'd been flooded with happiness to see him, exhilarated that he followed her, but that was completely overtaken with fury. And at the same time, she felt a pang of fear. Pacey was in a murderous rage. It was the first time she was afraid of him in her entire life.

"What?" Dawson's sleepy, confused voice murmured beside her, rolling over on his back and squinting his eyes in the sun's morning light.

Without another word, Pacey launched at Dawson as he struggled to sit up.

"Pacey stop it!" Joey ordered loudly. Pacey didn't seem to hear her. He raised a fist and swung hard, his violent punch connecting brutally with Dawson's face.

"Pacey!" Joey yelled. "Leave him alone you lying bastard!"

"Motherfuckin' two-faced cocksuckin' asshole!" Pacey shouted furiously, barely hearing his enraged wife scream for him to stop, a loud crack sounding when another vicious blow connected with Dawson's face. Dawson struggled with him feebly, unable to block another punch to his unprotected jaw. He was in pain, and Pacey wasn't getting up.

"PACEY!" Joey screamed, half-slapping, half-slamming her open hand squarely on to the side of his face. She hit him hard and soundly, a solid smack resounding in the now deathly-quiet room.

Pacey slowly turned his head and regarded her frostily, the hatred in his eyes meeting the wrath in hers. Slowly, Pacey slid off of Dawson, who cradled his bloody nose as his eyes shot daggers at Pacey. He was furious, but he didn't dare say anything. And even if he did, Pacey couldn't care less; his face was set in impenetrable stone as he backed a few steps away from the bed.

"What the fuck is going on here?" He asked icily, his glittering blue eyes raking over them in detestation.

"I hate you Pacey." Joey expressed vehemently.

Pacey was unmoved. "That much is obvious, toots."

"Fuck you." She hissed, beyond furious with him. Gone was the heartbroken soul who cried an ocean the night before; in her place was a blindly livid virago who was simply too pissed to be upset.

"Fuck me?" Pacey queried bitterly, barely contained his anger. "Oh no. Never again, lady. I'm gettin' the fuck outta here." He abruptly turned and began storming out.

"Fine! I want a divorce!" Joey shouted after him.

Pacey threw one last sentence over his shoulder before leaving and slamming the door; filled with such disgust and spite that Joey flinched. "Granted, Potter."

Joey knelt on the bed, his parting words stinging her through her cloud of fury. Dawson's moan forced her attention to him.

"You okay?" Joey demanded, her fury forbidding her gentleness.

"I will be," Dawson muttered. "Fucking bastard."

Adrenaline still pumping through her veins, Joey sat there, trembling, unable to believe the events that just transpired. How dare he walk in on them and start beating up on Dawson. How dare he?

Telling herself to do something constructive before she began punching the wall, Joey swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I'll get you some ice." She told him shortly over her shoulder. When she turned around, she caught sight of Pacey through the vertical blinds. Upon seeing the cause of all of her troubles, Joey's anger flared.

But nothing could prepare Joey for the unexpected onslaught of unbearable pain and violent anger that cut through her heart when she saw Pacey pause by his car, wrench something off of his finger, and angrily throw it off somewhere in the parking lot. It was his wedding ring.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

I wouldn't know what to do with another chance

If you gave it to me

I couldn't take the embrace of a real romance

It'd race right through me

I'm much better of the way things are

Much, much better of, better by far, by far

I wouldn't know what to say to a gentle voice

It'd roll right past me

And if you chalk it up you'll see I don't really have a choice

So don't even ask me

I'm much better off, the way things are

Much, much better off, better by far

So keep on calling me names, keep on, keep on

And I'll keep kicking the crap till it's gone

If you keep on killing, you could get me to settle

And as soon as I settle, I bet I'll be

Able to move on

How can I fight, when we're on the same side?

How can I fight beside you?

So keep on calling me names, keep on, keep on

And I'll keep kicking the crap till it's gone

If you keep on killing, you could get me to settle

And as soon as I settle, I bet I'll be

Able to move on

-"The Way Things Are" by Fiona Apple

Troy walked into the lobby, carrying a paper bag from Burger King. He pushed open one of the swinging doors of the main gallery and the sight of Joey standing on a stepladder greeted him along with the blasting of "Rapunzel" by Dave Matthews. He recognized the song from the "Before These Crowded Streets" album and took it as a good sign. For the past six weeks, Joey's preferred choice of music was Nirvana, Fiona Apple, No Doubt, Third Eye Blind, Sarah McLachlan and a few tracks from Limp Bizkit and Korn. But her favorite, the one she blasted over the gallery's sound system more than the others was the I-hate-you-and-I-don't-need-you-so-fuck-you-asshole Alanis Morisette classic, "You Oughta Know." He had been relieved when she began playing "Get Gone" and "The Way Things Are" by Fiona Apple endlessly, her next two favorites.

"This is straight right?" Joey asked without turning around, looking adorable clad in a pair of baggy khakis and an olive green tank top, her hair in a ponytail.

"You know it is." Troy said, taking a glance at the painting. 'Rage. Blinding Goddamn Rage', she called it. Six weeks ago she turned up at work, white-faced and tense. "I'm taking a couple of weeks off, Troy." She informed him dazedly.

He didn't ask why. "What about the exhibition?" He asked.

"Go on and get things moving," Joey had told him, her voice distant. "I'll be back before you really need me."

And so he did. She'd returned two weeks later, as promised, unwilling to talk about anything that didn't relate to work, carrying three explosive canvases filled with vibrant angry bold colors and images. One she'd left untitled, telling Troy she couldn't come up with a title for it.

"What did you feel when you were painting?" He had asked, when she indifferently asked him for a suggestion.

Her hazel eyes clouded over and she tonelessly, "Rage. Blinding goddamn rage, Troy."

And so it was named.

Troy looked around. The opening was that night, and everything was set. Joey was nervous as hell. She kept getting dizzy and nauseous and Troy advised her to calm down before she made herself sick.

"That's mine?" Joey asked, gesturing to the brown paper bag. Troy nodded, handed it over and watched as Joey dug into the bag and attacked her cherry slushie.

"You do know that it's November, and no one else in their right mind is walking around in a tank top and drinking slushies?"

"It's hot in here." She informed him, studying another canvas.

"That's because you keep messing with the thermostat. You always have it up too hot or too cold," he complained, perching on the stepladder. "Just leave it alone."

"Whining doesn't suit you, Troy." Joey absently said, reaching forward and moving a corner of the canvas up a fraction of an inch. It already looked straight to Troy, but Joey's expert eagle eye was much better than his, although his was definitely something to write home about.

"Still nervous about tonight?" Troy asked.

Joey laughed lightly as she walked over to the opposite wall. "Nervous isn't the word." She said wryly, lowering herself to the floor and digging into the bag again.

"Bringing the girls?" inquired Troy pleasantly. He noticed a faint look pass over Joey's face. It was so fleeting that Troy could've imagined it.

"No," Joey replied. "They have to go to school tomorrow. They'd be bored anyway."  
"So you hired a sitter?" Troy asked casually, studying her. She was concentrating much too hard on the hamburger she was unwrapping.

"Sort of." She muttered.

"Who?" He persisted.

She was quiet for a moment, chewing and swallowing and Troy thought she wasn't going to answer. She did though, with a curt, "They're with their father."

Troy lit up. Maybe things were going to work out with Joey and Pacey after all. He knew that things were really bad between them, because although Joey still laughed and talked and joked like always, some part of her seemed to be missing. And sometimes, something about someone or some object or some song would hit Joey, and a look of such bleak pain and hurt anger would flash across her face. The look broke Troy's heart, so the fact that Joey had even communicated with Pacey was a good sign.

"With Pacey, huh?" Troy asked. Joey nodded tersely, chewing on another big bite of the Burger King burger made her way, which was with extra everything.

"That's nice." Troy said conversationally, not letting the subject drop. Knowing she was growing annoyed, he set the trap, "I didn't know you were speaking to him."

Joey walked into it obliviously. "I haven't. Bessie took them to the house two weeks ago."

Joey inadvertently let him in on the knowledge she hadn't cared for him to know before, which was that she was staying with her sister, and she hadn't spoken to Pacey for at least two weeks. Given that, it was pretty safe to assume that six weeks ago, something must've gone horribly, horribly wrong between Joey and Pacey; especially since she'd been planning on talking to him that night, something he'd completely forgotten about until then.

"You miss them, huh?" Troy asked, going back to the subject of the girls before Joey could catch herself and realize what she'd done.

"You have no idea." She answered shortly before changing the subject altogether. "So, what time are you going home to change for tonight?"

"Six. Like I always do." He looked at her quizzically. "What, you think just because it's your opening I'll take longer to get dressed? You think that just because it's your exhibition I would be nervous as hell? Like certain a new artist I know with long dark hair and a name that begins with J who likes have Slurpees in November?" He teased.

Joey gave him a wry look. "Quit making fun of me." Joey said, pouting a little, her lips a juicy red from the crushed ice and cherry syrup. "And not only do I have every right to be nervous, this isn't a Slurpee, it's a slushie. Seven-Eleven sells Slurpees," Troy was primly informed.

Troy rolled his eyes and brought the subject matter back to the exhibition. "You've been to hundreds of these and you've always been calm and cool." He pointed out.

"Yes, but this is mine," Joey emphasized. "What if no one wants to buy? What is everyone leaves? What if—oh my God, what if no one shows up, Troy?"

"Everyone is going to be here," Troy said, watching a shade of green color Joey's face. "And everyone is going to want everything. And we both will make some serious money tonight."

"I'm getting nauseous." Joey breathed.

Troy glared at her. "That's because you just wolfed down a double Whopper with heavy everything, a large fries and half of that damn Slurpee or slushie or whatever-the-hell in five minutes," his dark brown eyes bore into hers. "Relax, Joey. Relax."

"I will. I will," she said, fighting down another bout of nausea and setting down her cup. "I have to go to the bathroom."

When she came back, Troy was studying a canvas. "You didn't vomit, did you?"

Joey glared at him. "No, I didn't vomit."

"Then that's like the tenth time you've gone to the bathroom, Joey. You seriously need to loosen up, sweetheart." Troy said firmly.

Looking around at the walls to make sure everything was straight, Joey picked up her cup and slowly sipped her cherry slushie to avoid brain-freeze. The exhibition was going to go great. A little of the tension left her body and the nausea subsided. Leaning her head back against the wall, Joey tried to relax.

Pacey rummaged through the cabinet until he found the bottle. He brought it over to Casey and Aliya and opened it.

"Who do you guys want?" He asked, unscrewing the top.

"I want Pebbles." Casey said.

"I want Bahnee. Daddy, I want Bahnee." Aliya told him.

Pacey found a Pebbles- and a Barney-shaped Flintstones multivitamin and handed them to his daughters. Aliya popped it into her mouth and began chewing, and Casey began playing with hers. Pacey shook his head as he went to put the bottle back.

"Hello, Pebbles," she said to the vitamin. "My name is Casey. You're gonna be going into my mouth in a second, and I'm gonna chew you up. Okay? No—no, don't start. I'm sorry. It's too late. You're a goner, Pebbles. Please stop crying. No, I have to eat you. I have to. You make my bones grow. No, just—"

"Casey, please," Pacey said, turning away from the cabinet and looking at her. "You're scaring me, baby."

Casey grinned at her father and shoved the vitamin into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and opened up for Pacey to inspect. "See? All gone."

"Good." He said, glancing at her and clearing up their bowls of cereal. "Are you two ready for school?"

"I don' wanna go." Aliya said while Casey went over to the mirror in the hall to check her reflection for the thousandth time that morning. She was wearing one of the outfits that Bessie had bought her for her fifth birthday the week before, dark blue jeans and a white baseball shirt with a dark blue collar and sleeves and a silver crescent moon on the front.

"Why not?" Pacey asked his youngest child.

"I wanna stay home with you, Daddy," Aliya told him. "School is stupid. And there's this stupid boy named Ricky who keeps teasing me."

"Hey, school is not stupid." Pacey said. "Just tell your teacher the boy is bothering you and she'll take care of it. Okay? I have to go to work today."

Aliya nodded, still looking a little upset that she couldn't stay home with the father she adored. Casey turned away from the mirror, where she'd been making faces at her reflection.

"I know who Ricky is in your class, 'Liya. I'll punch him in the face an' he won't never bother you again." Casey reassured her sister, striking an invisible Ricky with a rather quick right hook.

"No you will not punch Ricky in the face," Pacey said firmly. "Fighting doesn't solve things. No more fighting for you. You get in too many fights." And she did. After the episode with the little girl in her class, there were three more fights in the past six weeks. Casey always said that people were bothering her.

"You punched Uncle Dawson." Casey said defensively.

"No I didn't," Pacey lied incredulously. "Who told you that?"

"I was listenin' to Mommy and Aunt Bessie when she came back from the motel she was at." She said smugly, and before Pacey could comment, she frowned and touched her hair. "I thought you were gonna do my ponytail over."

Pacey stood there, staring at his daughter. She was becoming quite the little smart ass. He didn't know how she was when Joey had her, but ever since Bessie brought her over she'd been throwing these cocky, smart ass little comments around.

"Daddy, can you fix it, please?" She asked, her big sparkling eyes earnest. Her ponytail was sloppy and off-center. He beckoned her over and fixed it the best he could.

"It's still sucky, Daddy." Casey complained.

"Watch your mouth. And if you don't like it, do it yourself. You're the one that was tired of leaving your hair loose," he said, exasperated. "Let's go."

Wordlessly, Casey pulled out the elastic band in her hair and shook her hair out. She handed her father the comb from the counter. He parted it in the middle and combed it, the only style he could do right. "Better?" He asked, tossing the comb back on the counter.

"Thank you." She said, hugging him briefly around his leg.

As usual, his irritation with Casey melted away. "You're welcome." He said tenderly, before turning to Aliya. "If this boy Ricky bothers you again, tell your teacher. If he keeps on doing it, you tell me, and I'll take care of it, okay, baby girl?"

Aliya nodded, reassured. 

"Are we ready for some schoolin' now?" He asked. His girls nodded, and he nodded back. "Let's go."

Pacey packed up the girls and left. At work, his boss' sexual advances had cooled to light flirtations. Although Pacey always tried to keep his home life private, it had gotten around the office that he was getting divorced. His boss was divorced herself, and Pacey was surprised to see his tough-as-nails boss had compassion.

After collecting his daughters from the after-school program, Pacey headed home, his perpetual anger and depression never subsiding. He always made sure the girls didn't notice he was upset, but he could never convince himself. After a while, he just stopped trying to lie to himself. Joey and Dawson belonged together. They always had, and obviously, they'd figured that out. Pacey should've known. His life was going too perfectly for it to last. He should've realized when L.J. died that whomever controlled the ways of the world had found out what a big mistake they made in making Pacey Witter happy. So they took away his son and they took away his wife, and if anything happened to his girls . . . he couldn't bear thinking about.

As if they sensed he was thinking about them, Casey and Aliya came into the kitchen, where Pacey was sitting at the island counter, paying bills. "Can we make some cookies?" Casey asked, resting a small hand on his knee.

"Can we please?" Aliya added, trying to climb on to the stool next to him. The stool began to rock on its legs and before she could fall and bring it with her, Pacey wrapped his arm around her middle and hoisted her into his lap.

"You want some cookies, huh?" Pacey inquired, trying to think if they had any cookie dough.

"Uh huh." Casey chirped, punching his thigh, restlessly dancing around.

Pacey focused his gaze on her and raised his eyebrow at her. "Yo, you wanna fight, shorty?" He questioned mildly. She grinned and began hitting him again.

"Yes! Beat me up, Daddy! Beat me up!" Casey exclaimed.

Pacey pretended to glare and Casey giggled. "You asked for it." He growled, setting Aliya on the floor and jumping up. Casey and Aliya shrieked with laughter and raced into the living room, throwing themselves on to the couch. He yanked Casey up, threw her high in the air and tossed her back on to the couch. She landed in a cushion of pillows, laughing hysterically, and immediately got up for more. Pacey took Aliya's arms, swung her around in a few circles in the air, and gently deposited her on the couch. Casey was hitting and tugging on his leg and he pretended to fall heavily to the floor.

"Hey!" He protested. "You knocked me down."

"Good!" Casey exclaimed in delight. "Come on Aliya. Let's beat up Daddy!"

The rolled around on the floor and wrestled until Aliya got the hiccups. Casey repeated her request for cookies, and after a foray in to the freezer that resulted in no cookie dough; they went to the store.

__Once they got there, Casey and Aliya eagerly inspected the rows of candy at the counter, while Pacey headed to the frozen foods aisle. As he got closer to the cookie dough, he was assaulted with memories of L.J. After a quick look at the candy, he would race to the frozen foods aisle, look at either him or Joey with pleading gray eyes, and ask if they could make cookies. Pacey would always say yes, ruffle L.J.'s dirty blond hair, and grab one of the tubes of dough.

A bittersweet tenderness washed through him as Pacey picked up a tube of chocolate chip and stared reminiscently at it. Sighing, he turned to go to the counter, immediately slamming into someone. "Hey, I'm . . ." The apology died on Pacey's lips when the woman's eyes met his.

"Pacey." She breathed, as shocked to see him as he her.

Slowly, a smile broke across his features as he pulled her into a hug, unaware of her slight trembling. "Where've you been, missy? I called you a bunch of times but you seem to have forgotten my number." He pretended to glare into her turquoise eyes.

Melanie shrugged, trying not to let Pacey see the burst of love and nervousness that flooded through her when she realized who he was. When she'd come home from work earlier, Tara was getting ready to go to Pacey's wife's exhibition with her current girlfriend, who was a journalist. They asked her along, but she declined, not wanted to see Joey and Pacey together. Deciding to host a pity party, she went to the deli for bagels and cream cheese and ice cream. Pacey had brought her to that particular deli a few times, telling her that they baked the best goddamn bagels in the neighborhood. They'd split one, and Melanie readily agreed with him. They were delicious. They'd grinned at each other and gone for a walk. Thinking about that day weeks ago, Melanie hadn't even seen the very person she'd been thinking about as she walked down the aisle.

"I've been working." She told him, trying not to look him in the eye.

"You're a workin' girl," Pacey noted, grinning at her. He truly missed her. He had friends, but after L.J. died, he'd closed off, and hadn't spoken to any of them in months. He'd estranged Joey, and had no one but Melanie to talk to. And after she suddenly stopped calling or returning his calls, and after the horrible experience at the hotel, and after his murderous fury ebbed into a steady hum of anger, he'd been dying to talk to someone. The only other options were Andie, Doug, and Gretchen. But Andie was eight months pregnant, Doug was taking night college classes, and Pacey didn't want to bother them. Gretchen was backpacking in Europe with her Eurotrash boyfriend, so she was out of the question.

"Gotta make that money." Melanie said, shrugging again, focusing anywhere but Pacey's eyes.

Pacey studied her. She looked as if she'd lost weight. Her tan had faded, there were faint dark smudges under her turquoise eyes, which lost their sparkle and laughter and were replaced with a dull melancholy, giving her an overall look of sickliness.

"You work too hard, girl," he admonished, shaking the cookie dough at her for emphasis. "I hope you're here for some food. You need some meat on those skinny bones."

Melanie glared at his forehead. "Who's skinny?" she retorted. "And, by the way, I'm getting some of those mouth-watering bagels."

"Mouth-watering bagels, huh?" Pacey mused. "Strange."

"But accurate." She countered.

Pacey nodded. "Y'know, that somehow does sounds right when applied to these particular bagels," he paused and smiled a little. "They're not in the frozen foods section, though."

She glared some more and nodded. "I _know_ that. I'm getting frozen orange juice." She reached around him and grabbed two cans.

"You're not gonna launch a full-scale attack on my eyebrows with those things, are ya?" He asked, staring warily at the can.

Melanie blinked and stared at him blankly. "Huh?" She asked.

"That's better," he smiled again, locking her eyes with his. "You were glaring at my eyebrows. If they did anything to offend you, believe me, it was unintentional."

Melanie finally laughed, relaxing. Pacey had obviously forgotten about their last conversation.

"Daddy, what's taking so long?" A little girl's voice complained in irritation behind her. Melanie turned and saw Pacey's two adorable little girls with candy in their hands.

"Can I get dis?" The youngest asked, shoving a lollipop at Pacey. "Can you buy dis for me please?"

"Sure, kid," Pacey said, gazing at her tenderly. "Come on."

As the foursome made their way to the front, Pacey gave introductions. Aliya smiled shyly, but Casey, who was more outspoken, said a jaunty, "Hi!" and then asked if she wanted to come to her house and bake cookies with them.

"Yeah, come over," Pacey said with a grin, before Melanie could decline Casey's invitation. "It'll be fun. I can finally beat you in Monopoly."

Melanie hesitated, and as Pacey looked at her, waiting for her answer, he suddenly remembered what happened the morning he'd found Joey in bed with Dawson. Uneasily, Pacey remembered what Melanie told him.

"I'm utterly and stupidly in love with you, Pacey."

He shifted his gaze away from her and wondered how he could have forgotten such a thing. There was no way he could invite her into his house, knowing that she was in love with him, knowing that he could be encouraging her. But how could he revoke his invitation? 'Hey, I forgot that you're in love with me so it's not such a good idea if you come to my house, okay? Sorry about that.' Pacey winced. That would sound cruel and conceited. He didn't know if Melanie was still in love with him. And anyway, he kind of wanted her to come over. He could really use someone to talk to.

Melanie sighed and smiled at the trio of Witters. "Okay."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Butterscotch pudding. As Joey stood back, watching people mill about, admiring her work, she had an incredible craving for butterscotch pudding. She sipped her Dom Perignon and tried to find Troy in the crowd. He was standing in the middle of a group of journalists on the other side of the room, charming them. It wouldn't be long before they were seeking her out. She as in no mood to speak to them; all she wanted was butterscotch pudding. Sighing, Joey glowered into her glass. She wasn't even sure if she liked butterscotch pudding.

When she looked up again, Troy was grinning and waving her over. She wanted to beckon them over to her, but knew it wouldn't look too good. Instead, Joey put on a bright smile and reluctantly went to give interviews.

Tomorrow, in dozens of art newspapers and art sections of regular newspapers, journalists and art critics would gush about Josephine Witter; how beautiful she looked in her shimmering, dark blue evening gown, how unique and emotional and inspiring and amazing her art was, and how down-to-earth and witty she was. For not only did she insist on being called Joey from the very start, but when one journalist asked how she thought the wonderful exhibition was going herself, she replied with "It's okay. I just wish I was home right now with my daughters, eating butterscotch pudding and hot dogs."

Oh, they laughed at that, but Joey was completely serious. When she answered enough questions to satisfy them and leave them with a good impression of her, Joey politely excused herself and wormed her way over to the office. It was closed and locked and she peered through the open vertical blinds to see the clock mounted on the wall. Troy didn't put any clocks in the rooms.

Nine o'clock. She'd only been there for two hours and was ready to leave. Unenthusiastically, Joey walked back through the lobby to the rooms, her two and a half inch heels clicking sharply on the parquet, finishing her champagne. Waiters were walking around with trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne and she stopped one to get another glass.

"If you're going to drink, why not join me in a bourbon?" A familiar voice said from behind her as she was accepting a glass of champagne from the waiter's tray. Flooded with surprise and happiness, Joey whirled around and embraced her friend, who hadn't changed a bit since high school.

"I can't believe you're here!" She squealed, almost spilling the champagne on Jen's blond curls. She pulled away and looked down at her grinning face in amazement. "What are you doing here?" She inquired, smiling back.

Jen gestured to herself. She was wearing leather boots, a leather jacket over a wine-colored silk blouse and a long, darkly flowered skirt. "Well, as you can see I didn't exactly plan on coming," she paused and pretended to glare at Joey. "I would have, had you sent me an invitation."

"I didn't invite anyone I know. I didn't even allow Bessie to come. If no one showed up to this thing it would be more embarrassing if you guys were here to witness my humiliation," she said wryly, adding as an afterthought, "And you look fine."

"Thanks. You look absolutely stunning." Jen complimented, taking in Joey's gown and her hair, which was swept up in a sophisticated style that took her fifteen minutes to do. Joey blushed a little and thanked her. "Where's Troy?" Jen asked, looking around the lobby.

"Off somewhere charming everyone he possibly can." Joey said, not even bothering to try to find him in the crowd.

"Wow, this place has come a long way since it's humble beginnings." Jen said, nodding appreciatively at the high ceilings and huge multi-paned windows. "Excellent lighting. I love these windows. It looks great."

Joey nodded proudly. "Thanks," she said, leading Jen inside the main gallery and toward the bar. "So who told you about this?"

"Who do you think?" Jen asked, slipping out of her jacket and folding it over her arm.

"Not Dawson." Joey frowned. He, of course, knew about the exhibition, but she specifically told him not to tell anyone.

"Who else," Jen snorted, not mentioning that the week before, Dawson worriedly told her everything that happened between them and Pacey, and hoped that Jen could help Joey out. Because Joey, Dawson fretted, is going to fall to pieces if she doesn't express all of her anger and hurt. "Aren't you glad I came? Look how many people showed up."

Joey groaned and lifted her glass of champagne to her lips. "Don't remind me. I'm two seconds away from running for the hills." She told her sardonically.

Jen ordered a double bourbon and grinned at Joey. "Come on. You know you love this."

"I do, but . . ." Joey grimaced. "I just want to get some butterscotch pudding. And hot dogs. Ooh, and cranberry sauce."

Jen gave her a laughing, speculative look. "Jesus, Joey, you're not pregnant are you?" She joked, taking her drink and going into her purse to pay for it.

Joey froze, staring into space. She couldn't be pregnant. She couldn't be. But how could you explain the cravings for odd food, the constant need to go to the bathroom, the nausea? She didn't think that all pregnant women actually had the trite, telltale signs, until when she was in her first few weeks of being pregnant with L.J. and got first-hand experience. She'd gone to the bathroom every ten minutes, had sudden bouts of nausea, and all she wanted was . . . butterscotch pudding . . .

Jen paid the bartender and turned; surprised to see the stricken expression on Joey's ashen face. "Joey," she said evenly, studying her with perceptive dark eyes. "Are you pregnant?"

"I . . . don't know." Joey whispered distantly, staring into space. Her eyes focused and she looked at Jen in alarm. "I don't know." She repeated, panicked.

"Come on," Jen said, taking down the alcohol in one shot. "We gotta go."

"But, I can't just leave—" Joey said, worriedly glancing about in every direction.

Jen took Joey's arm. "Yes you can. And you will."

Pacey walked back into the kitchen and picked up one of the few cookies that were left after they baked. Casey and Aliya were tucked into their beds, sleeping soundly. Melanie was sitting at the island counter, waiting for him to return.

"Your kids," Melanie solemnly said when Pacey slid on to the stool next to hers, "are the most wonderful little girls on the face of the planet."

Pacey chewed a bite of the soft cookie, nodded and smiled. "Damn right." He agreed proudly, fondly thinking of his daughters.

"Casey is funny." Melanie continued, laughing, remembering some of the more outrageous things Casey had said and suggested during the course of the evening. Pacey laughed with her and nodded again.

"Yeah, she gets it from me." He chuckled.

They fell silent, and Melanie thought about Casey and Aliya, a smile on her face. Pacey finished his cookie, went to the refrigerator and got out two bottles of Dos Equis beer. He handed one to Melanie and went back for the bottle opener.

Melanie watched him slide back one of the kitchen drawers, admiring the easy grace with which he did all things. Pacey was as gorgeous as he had ever been, although he did have that Look on his face again. Maybe now he could answer the question that had been plaguing her all night. Why the hell wasn't Pacey with Joey?

At first Melanie thought that Pacey was staying home to baby-sit the girls, but Joey was having an exhibition; they would've hired a baby-sitter and gone together. Figuring that maybe art shows wasn't Pacey's thing, Melanie had been waiting for Joey to come in from the exhibition, preparing herself to finally meet her, preparing herself to watch them together without feeling nauseous and heartbroken. It was now ten o'clock and Joey was nowhere in sight. Melanie sighed and hoped, for her own sanity, that nothing had gone wrong between the two. She wanted Pacey to be deliriously happy in a relationship with Joey; that way she could completely move on.

When Pacey returned with the bottle opener and handed it to her, Melanie inquired as casually as possible, "So where are you hiding the infamous Joey Witter?"

Melanie would be inclined to think that Joey's name had no effect of Pacey at all, had there been no reflexive twitch of his fingers as he reached for the bottle opener and a hardening in his eyes. But there was, and Melanie knew that something very bad had gone on.

Pacey smiled bitterly and wrenched the cap off of his bottle of beer before lifting in a toast to her. "You're good," he said dryly, taking a long swallow of the cold stout. He stared at her thoughtfully before shaking his head. "Aren't you getting tired of helping me out with my marriage?"

Melanie suppressed a smile at his ability to see right through her 'casual' question and shrugged. "I have nothing better to do. Either help you or," she paused and grinned before repeating what Pacey once said, "read the computer with sunglasses on and a Sarah McLachlan album on repeat."

Pacey acknowledged that with a little smile and shrugged. "Fine." He finished half of the beer in one drink before telling Melanie what happened. "All right. After you left that morning, I went to Bessie's house to find out where she went . . ."

Joey sat pensively on Jen's former bed in Jen's former bedroom in her parents' downtown apartment. The Lindleys were not in attendance. They were off somewhere in Europe, Jen told her when she'd hustled her into a cab almost an hour before. They hadn't changed the locks to the penthouse apartment, and Jen told her they wouldn't mind if she and Joey borrowed the place for a while. Especially not when there were such important matters to tend to.

Was she pregnant?

Joey didn't know. She couldn't squeeze out a drop of the stuff needed to answer that question, and Jen was growing annoyed. She returned with yet another glass of ice-cold water and gave it to Joey. Sitting on the bed, Jen took a deep breath and told Joey the real reason why she was back in New York.

"How could Dawson do that?" Joey sputtered, mortified and furious. "I told him not to say anything. How could he—?"

"Joey, listen," Jen interrupted, putting a hand on her knee. "The fact that Dawson told me isn't important right now. This baby and your marriage are important."

Joey's stormy gaze flew to Jen. "My marriage wasn't all that important to Pacey now was it? And, as of now, there is no baby."

"No," Jen corrected. "There might be a baby. And you have to deal with that possibility. That possibility which," Jen told her in irritation, "would no longer be a possibility if you would just go to the bathroom already."

Joey answered by drinking some of the water and saying nothing else. She sat with her shoulders hunched, both hands holding the glass, staring morosely at the thick, blood red carpet. Jen watched her before hesitantly asking a question that had been bugging her since Dawson told her the story. "Joey . . . what happened that night when you saw Pacey with that girl?"

Joey bit down on her lip and was silent for so long that Jen was about to apologize for bringing it up and let the question drop; but Joey answered her in a tense, quiet voice. She spoke evenly, her voice and face betraying no emotion at all, which told Jen a lot. Joey face was usually very expressive, and since no emotion at all showed, Jen knew that what Dawson said was right. If Joey didn't let out all of the anger and frustration building up inside of her, she would fall apart.

When Joey was finished, she drank the rest of the water, and Jen nodded to herself. "So you didn't actually see him in bed with her? You just saw them sleeping on the couch and you freaked out?" Jen questioned, staring at Joey.

Joey frowned at her. "Yes," she said defensively, bristling at the subtle disapproval in Jen's voice. "They were curled up together, under a blanket. Did I need to see him rolling on a condom and sticking it to her before I 'freaked out'?" Joey voice was bitter, and Jen could see pain cracking her impassive façade, but to her credit, her voice didn't break or wobble once.

"No—Joey, I'm sorry. I—I wasn't trying to," Jen began, stuttering a little as she always did when she was caught off guard, ashamed or flustered. Joey nodded and shrugged a little before staring back down at the carpet. Jen took a moment before gently suggesting, "What if Pacey didn't actually sleep with the girl?"

Again came Joey's stormy gaze. "What?" She hissed.

"What if you were mistaken?"

Joey vehemently shook her head. "I wasn't mistaken. There was no mistaking what I saw."

"No, Joey, you're not thinking about this," Jen said, changing tack. "Look, Pacey loved you, all right? He loved you with all he had. I just don't see him sleeping with some random girl just because you ran off to spend some time with Dawson. I just can't see him doing that."

Joey's head shaking slowed, but didn't stop. "Then how do you explain the clothes on the floor? How do you explain that girl being there in the first place? I'd never seen her before in my life. And they'd been drinking. The whole den smelled of it and there was bottle of Bacardi 151 and shot glasses on the floor."

Jen absorbed this information. "Whose clothes?" She asked.

Joey looked at Jen as if she were stupid. "What?"

"Whose clothes were on the floor?" Jen repeated.

"I guess they were the girl's." She answered. She didn't see any of Pacey's clothes mixed up with hers.

"Were they both undressed?" Jen asked.

Joey thought for a moment. "No. Pacey had on a wife beater and the girl had on a t-shirt."

"What about their pants?"

"They were covered by the blanket." Joey said, suddenly wishing that they'd picked up some butterscotch pudding before they went upstairs; wishing that Jen would go away and stop questioning her and let her curl up under the covers and die.

"How were they lying together?"

Joey closed her eyes and wished that the glass in her hands would suddenly be filled with scotch. "Jen, I really don't want to think about that."

Joey could feel Jen's hand tightening on her knee in a squeeze of support. "I'm sorry," Jen said quietly, "but Joey, how good would it be if Pacey didn't sleep with that girl after all?"

Shaking her head, Joey felt pain spreading out from her heart to fill her stomach and her head. "That would be horrible!" She burst out.

"Why?"

"Because that means that he got all upset over nothing." Joey said, trying not to get distressed.

"What do you mean?"

Joey put down the glass and rubbed her face with both hands. "You know . . . about me and Dawson."

"But wasn't that a mistake?"

"Pacey doesn't think so." Joey told her sourly. "He wasn't in the hotel room for a full minute before he was beating the shit out of Dawson."

Jen shook her head. "All right, one thing at a time. If it comes out that Pacey didn't sleep with that girl at all, there's only one thing that we have to do to get you two back together, and settle the whole Dawson thing."

"Who says I want to get back together with him?" Joey retorted defiantly.

Jen gave her a long-suffering look. "Joey, please. Now is not the time to lie to ourselves." Before Joey could reply to that, Jen held up a hand to stop her. "How were they lying? Humor me."

Joey sighed and thought back to that horrible night. What if she was mistaken? All of this would entirely be her fault. She couldn't take it. But Jen had planted the seeds of doubt, and deep down Joey did want to be with him. She yearned for him, the feel of his arms around her, his lips against hers, but most importantly, his love. Being loved by Pacey Witter was the most amazing thing she'd ever felt, and Joey longed to feel that way again. She owed it to herself to explore the possibility. If he did in fact sleep with her, then the divorce would still go through, and that would be that.

But no, Joey reminded herself, 'that' wouldn't 'be that'. There was still the possibility of the baby. Sighing, Joey realized that she had to eliminate all of these 'possibilities' and get down to the definite articles.

"They were facing each other and she had her arms around him." She answered dully.

"Were Pacey's arms around her?" Jen asked quietly.

"No."

Jen nodded and stared thoughtfully at the wall. Joey waited. "What?" Jen asked, seeing Joey's impatient stare.

"I don't see what you're getting at."

"Just . . . let me think."

Joey stood up. "While you're thinking, I'll be eliminating a possibility." Joey said, heading towards Jen's bathroom.

Heart pounding in anticipation, Jen followed her to the bathroom door. "When you're done, replace the cap and set it on the counter. Don't touch it."

Joey smiled as she closed the door. "I've taken these before." Joey reminded her.

Jen sat down on the bed and waited for Joey to finish. After a moment, Joey opened the door and told Jen to come in. "We have a minute to wait." Joey said, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet.

Jen nodded and sat on the edge of the counter, staring down at the pregnancy test. If a plus appeared, Joey would be pregnant; which was why it was important to know the truth of what happened that night. "Here's what I think." Jen told her. "And I'm just trying to help you, all right? I love you both and I don't want you two to get a divorce. So hear me out, okay?"

Joey nodded and swallowed hard, waiting for Jen to continue. "I think that whoever the girl was—she was only a friend. I think that Pacey needed someone to talk to. If I understand correctly, you and Pacey were having fights, so you went to Dawson's for two weeks to figure things out. And before you and Pacey could talk, you slept together. And after that, you ran off, scared. Right?"

Joey nodded again.

"Right," Jen said to herself. "So I think that in that time, Pacey found himself a friend to talk to. He was probably beside himself for those two weeks when you were with Dawson, wondering why you left him, wondering when you were coming back. And once you came back you were both thrown off by sleeping together. So he was probably thinking that everything was going to be okay, but when he wakes up you're gone. So again, he's panicked and he goes to this girl and he talks to her and they get drunk and they pass out on the couch. As for the clothes on the floor, you say she had on a t-shirt right? Was the heat on in the house?"

Joey shrugged. "I can't remember. It was raining, so it probably was . . ." She trailed off and shrugged again.

Jen's face lit up. "Maybe that's why," she speculated. "Maybe her clothes got wet and he lent her some of his. And maybe he forgot to put them in the dryer. When you're drunk, you tend to forget a thing like that."

Joey shook her head. "That's a lot of maybes." She said doubtfully.

Jen shrugged. "It makes sense."

Joey sighed and gestured to the pregnancy test. "Did it come out yet?" She asked worriedly.

Jen looked down at the test and smiled at Joey. "Well, there's one 'maybe' that's no more," Jen said, picking up the test and passing it to Joey. Joey's eyes widened and Jen spoke aloud what the test confirmed. "You're pregnant."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

"No!" Melanie gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. 

Pacey nodded. "Yes. I found her in bed with Dawson."

"So what happened?" Melanie asked, feeling horrible for him, wishing Joey was there so she could slap her and shake her and demand to know why she would do such a thing to a man who loved her so much.

Pacey's eyes clouded over and he shrugged. "I hit Dawson a little and Joey began screaming some bullshit at me and I left." He paused and shrugged again. "I haven't seen or heard from her since."

Melanie sighed and stared at him, not knowing what to say. Pacey filled in the silence for her with an afterthought. "Except for the call from her lawyer about the divorce."

Melanie gasped again and again her hand went to her mouth. "Oh no!"

"Oh yes." He nodded, getting up and going to the refrigerator for another beer.

Melanie frowned as she felt a tug on her heartstrings. She was surprised at herself. She'd literally dreamed about Pacey and Joey getting a divorce and leaving him free to be hers. But now that the proceedings were underway, she felt an incredible sense of unexplainable sadness. Then she realized what it was. Pacey. She loved him so much that she didn't want him to get a divorce; she knew it would make him unhappy. She loved him so much that his happiness came before her desire to be with him.

When Pacey came back and opened his bottle, she lit up a cigarette and smoked it thoughtfully. Pacey was a little annoyed that she didn't ask if he minded her smoking in the house, but he let it slide. They were friends, after all.

"Why did Joey want to get a divorce?" She asked suddenly.

Pacey looked at her in confusion. "What?"

"Joey," Melanie said. "Why did Joey want a divorce?" When Pacey just looked at her speculatively, she continued. "I mean, you caught her in bed with someone else. What gives her the right to divorce you? I would think that you would divorce her."

Pacey shrugged. "She beat me to it."

"What do you mean?"

"She told me she wanted to get a divorce right then and there," Pacey told her bitterly, taking a swig of the beer and declining Melanie's offer of a cigarette. "I guess she wanted to keep on jumping Dawson with a clear conscience."

Melanie frowned and took another pull from her cigarette. Letting the smoke out slowly, she shook her head and rapped on the island counter. "See? Something about that just doesn't make any sense to me."

Laughing humorlessly, Pacey propped his elbow up on the counter and rested his head on his cupped hand. "What's not to make sense?" He asked, drumming his fingers on his knee.

"First of all, how can you divorce your husband to have an affair with a married man with a clear conscience? Why not just stay married? Unless Dawson's getting a divorce too?" Melanie wondered. Pacey shrugged. 

"What did Joey say exactly?" Melanie asked him, an idea forming in her head. Pacey sighed. "Come on, Witter. That whole thing just doesn't click. What did she say when you came in? Specifically."

Trying not to let her see how much it pained him to recount that morning, Pacey told her what she'd said. "She called me a lying bastard, she said she hated me, and she told me she wanted a divorce. That's all."

"See!" Melanie said, slamming her hand on the counter for emphasis. The cigarette jumped out of the ashtray and landed on the counter. Pacey wordlessly picked it up and handed it to her. She took it and waved it around as she spoke. "You caught her in bed with Dawson. Why was she saying she hated you? Why did she call you a lying bastard?"

Pacey shrugged. Melanie smoked.

"What happened before that morning? When was the last time you saw each other?"

Closing his eyes, Pacey thought back to the last time they'd seen each other. She looked so gorgeous, standing there with her hair damp from her shower. When he kissed her, it felt like he was going to explode. "We made love." He told Melanie achingly, his eyes still shut, unable to see the pain contort Melanie's face.

They were silent for a moment, Pacey trying to banish thoughts of that night from his mind, Melanie insisting to herself that if she began crying, she wouldn't be of much help to Pacey.

"All right," Melanie told him, blowing smoke rings, hoping she looked unaffected. "I don't know about Joey, but I wouldn't tell someone that I hated him and call him a lying bastard if the last thing we did was sleep together. Unless . . ."

Waiting for her to finish, Pacey prompted her when she didn't, "Unless what?"

"Unless something happened to make her think that you were lying to her," Melanie said quietly. "Unless something happened to make her hate you. Unless something happened . . . to make her sleep with Dawson to get back at you."

"But I didn't do anything." Pacey said incredulously.

"You don't know that."

"What are you going to do?" Jen asked quietly. They were sitting in the kitchen, Jen drinking coffee, Joey drinking orange juice. Joey had taken another pregnancy test, which had come up just as positive as the last one.

Joey took a deep breath and slowly shook her head. "I don't know." She whispered.

Jen sipped her coffee and let Joey think for a while. It was a lot to digest. There was the possibility that Pacey didn't actually sleep with someone else, and then there was the baby. Joey had to make some decisions, and the sooner she made them, the better.

"Are you going to keep the baby?" Jen asked gently.

Joey looked up at her, horrified. "Of course."

Jen held up a hand defensively. "I'm sorry. I just—you know, I. . . I know you're Pro-Choice and . . ."

Joey nodded her understanding. "I am, but . . ." her eyes clouded over and she propped her elbow up on the table and pressed her forehead to her palm. "I couldn't do that . . . not after losing L.J. . . ."

". . . Sorry." Jen told her again.

"Don't apologize," Joey reassured her, resting her hand briefly on Jen's. She sighed again and began pulling the pins from her hair. Jen drank her coffee and watched Joey give her hair a shake and tuck the long dark strands behind her ears.

"So what next?" Jen inquired.

Shrugging, Joey said, "You're the one with the theories. I was doing fine just divorcing Pacey and getting on with my life."

Jen wanted to point out that Joey wasn't 'doing fine', but figured it would be a waste of time and considered the question instead. "Well, now that we've dealt with one of the possibilities, what do you say to dealing with another?"

"What do you mean?" Joey asked suspiciously, not liking the gleam in Jen's eyes.

"Ask Pacey if he slept with that girl." Jen said simply.

Joey gaped at her. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"After that whole thing with Dawson? After I asked him for a divorce? I would have absolutely no right to do that." She told her, aghast. Jen shrugged and took a casual sip of her coffee.

"I would think that if Pacey really didn't sleep with her, and if he is sitting at home right now wishing things were different between you two, he wouldn't mind." Joey gave her a look. "Well, he would mind at first," Jen amended. "But think of the result. You'd be together, and Casey and Aliya will have two parents to complain to when this baby is getting all the attention."

Joey blinked. She hadn't been factoring Casey and Aliya into the equation. She missed them. But she knew that Pacey had been missing them too. They didn't know about their plans for a divorce; Joey put off telling them. They didn't say anything, but she knew that they knew that something was up, especially Casey. Casey was a smart girl, a smart and intuitive little girl who spoke her mind. She wouldn't keep quiet for long.

"I don't know," Joey said uneasily. "This is all too much at once." She rubbed her temples, trying to soothe the headache that was beginning to form.

"I'm only trying to help you do what's right." Jen said softly. "And divorcing Pacey for something he didn't do is definitely not right."

Joey took a deep breath. Jen was right, of course. "But what about the thing with Dawson? Pacey was furious."

"Just explain to him the position you were in, and he'll understand. He's not an unfeeling bastard; he'll realize that you needed someone to turn to," Jen paused and tilted her head to one side as she eyed Joey speculatively. "You know, he probably jumped to the wrong conclusion himself."

"I was thinking the same thing," Joey agreed. "But I didn't care, because it would serve him right. But if he didn't sleep with her . . . well would be a different story."

"I would say so." Jen paused. "So when are you going to talk to him?"

She was answered by a shrug. Jen gave her a look. "All right," Joey sighed and said, "As soon as possible."

"How about tonight?" Jen suggested. When Joey balked at that, Jen nodded. "All right. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Joey accepted. "After work."

"Wait a minute. So you're telling me that there's a chance that Joey's divorcing me because of something I didn't do?" Pacey asked. "You're telling me that she slept with my best friend for something that I didn't do? If she didn't decide that she belonged with Dawson, what the hell could I have done for her to do something like that?"

Melanie shrugged. "That's the problem. I don't know. That's a hell of a way to get back at someone. But people do that sometimes."

"Why?"

"Usually because their partner slept with someone else. Maybe she thinks you did." Melanie suggested.

Pacey snickered grimly. "Yeah right. And whom would I have slept with? You?"

Melanie shrugged again and assured herself that he didn't mean that as an insult. "Maybe. Maybe she saw us together and assumed the worst."

Pacey mulled that one over but rejected it. "Joey wouldn't do that," he decided. "She's not that kinda woman. As a matter of fact, unless she was in love with someone else, she wouldn't sleep around on me. And I would've liked to think that if she did want to be with someone else, she'd tell me. But I guess I thought too highly of her in that respect." He finished resentfully, glowering at the bottle in his hand.

"Look, you guys just need to talk," Melanie sighed. "You don't just divorce someone without talking."

Pacey snorted. "Talk about what exactly?" he asked crossly. "The way she would drink herself into a stupor instead of talking to me? The way she ran off to Dawson's for two weeks without a word? What? The way she slept with me and then ran out? The way she fucked Dawson? Oh no, there's nothing left to talk about. All I need to know is where to sign and how often I get to see my girls. She can have this house. I can't step foot into the goddamn bedroom anyway."


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Casey woke up in the middle of the night with a stomachache. She rolled over on her back and winced, wishing the pain would go away. As she lay in the dark, she desperately missed her Mommy. She and Daddy weren't talking to each other, and it made her sad. She wished that whoever made the other angry would just say they were sorry.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she tried not to cry but she couldn't help it. She wished L.J. didn't have to go to Heaven. She wished God didn't want him. She missed him so much and things only got bad when he left.

"Daddy!" she sobbed. "Daddy!"

She looked to the hallway and saw a faint light come on from downstairs. A few moments later, she heard footsteps on the stairs and her Daddy came in and turned on her night-light.

"What's wrong, baby?" He asked, pulling her into his arms and holding her close. Casey buried her face in his neck and felt a little better.

"My stomach hurts and I miss Mommy." She cried.

Her Daddy didn't say anything for a moment; he just stroked her hair. "I miss Mommy too." He whispered.

Casey sniffled and looked up at her Daddy. "I know you and Mommy are mad at each other," she brokenly. "But can't you just say sorry and make her come home?"

"I wish it was that simple, kiddo," Daddy said softly. "I really wish it was."

Casey sighed and pressed her face back on to his shoulder. "Is Mommy ever gonna come home?" she asked. "Are we all gonna live together like how we did before L.J. went to Heaben?"

Her Daddy began rocking her gently and he took a deep breath. "I honestly don't know, Casey," he told her. "But I want you to know that I love you baby. Never ever forget that, okay?"

That made her feel good inside and she nodded. But something was bothering her and she hesitated before asking, "And what about Mommy?"

"Of course Mommy loves you." He said, kissing the top of her head. "What makes you think she doesn't?"

Casey shook her head and clarified, "I know she does. But do you love Mommy too?"

Her Daddy was quiet for so long that she didn't think he was going to answer her. And he also stopped breathing. But before she could ask him again, he said quietly, "I'll always love your Mommy, no matter what. I'll love her always."

Satisfied, Casey glanced over at Aliya. She was sleeping peacefully. If Aliya went to Heaven too, Casey didn't know what she would do. Deciding not to think about that, Casey thought about her Mommy and, listening to her Daddy's heartbeat, drifted back off to sleep.

Troy was so happy at work that he was literally singing when Joey came in. Stevie Wonder was playing over the speakers and when Joey walked into the office, Troy grabbed her and began dancing.

"Did you get laid last night or something?" Joey asked, allowing herself to be dipped.

"You bet," he said, pulling her back up and releasing her. "You, my lady, are the hottest new artist in town."

"I take it the exhibition went well." She supposed lightly, trying not to get too excited.

"Oh you bet your sweet ass it did." He crowed cheerily, sweeping a newspaper off of the stack on his desk and swatting her behind with it. "Take a look at that."

He tossed the newspaper on her desk. While Joey was looking through that, he went to his desk, picked up the stack and sat them on her desk as well. "You were a success!"

Joey grinned, sank down in to her seat and began flipping through the newspapers to the places that Troy marked with yellow Post-Its. She read praise after praise after praise as Troy went to get her a cup of coffee, and she was positively beaming by the time he returned.

Accepting the cup, she looked at him in amazement. "Did it really go that well?"

"Of course!" Troy exclaimed. "Everyone was so caught up in your art that no one really noticed or minded that you skipped out early on us."

Joey smiled sheepishly. "Jen showed up. I hadn't seen her in a long time. She says hi."

"Jen's in town?" Troy asked, surprised. "I love that girl. Tell her that if she doesn't stop by to see me, I might not kick her ass for not saying hi yesterday."

"All right," Joey chuckled. " . . . Are you upset, though? Because I left?"

Waving a dismissive hand at her, Troy said, "Hell no. Not with that fortune you made me. Joey," he turned serious and went to stand in front of her desk. He braced his hands on the top, leaned forward and looked her in the eye. "They snatched up everything."

"Everything?" Joey repeated in disbelief.

"See for yourself," Troy offered. "Everything that you put up for sale is marked. You know how it's done. Go on and see."

After Joey took a look around and saw all of the canvases marked by a red circular sticker, the reality of the situation hit her. Pretty soon, she was giddier than Troy and singing herself. She forgot her worries about Pacey for the moment and allowed herself to bask in the satisfying glow of success. After years of uncertainty, after years of fear, she'd done it! She put herself out there and she was accepted! She was loved!

Unable to stand it, she called Bessie at work, and she squealed like a pig when she told her. "I'm so proud of you Joey." She said.

"Thanks." Joey said, smiling gratefully.

"I just wish that you would've let me come." Bessie said wistfully.

"You can stop by later and see everything. Jen's in town, she's taking me to lunch at twelve. You can come along." Joey offered.

"Okay, I'd like that."

When they hung up, Joey smiled to herself and heaved a sigh of relief and satisfaction. After she settled things with Pacey, for better or for worse, it would feel like a load being lifted off of her shoulders.

Although, Joey thought somberly, now that she had a tiny hope that Pacey didn't actually sleep with that girl, she was afraid of how she would feel if he admitted that he did. She hadn't given much thought to the divorce. She'd immersed herself in her work and shoved it to the dark recesses of her mind, where she stored thoughts of L.J.'s death. When he'd found out that they hadn't spoken to each other, her lawyer had urged her and Pacey to talk, to seek counseling, to do something other than continue with the rash divorce. Joey simply and coldly told him that all he needed to do was his job. Gently, he told her that he was doing his job, and he also didn't want to see her go something she regretted. She thanked him with only a hint of sarcasm and asked him if he'd regret losing her business.

She'd been cruel to him, throwing his kindness back into his back, but she was dying inside and trying not to show it. Maybe she would send him a Christmas card or something. Or Hanukkah. She'd have to find out if he was Jewish or not. His last name was Meyers, but that didn't always mean anything.

Troy interrupted her from the frivolous thoughts designed to take her mind off of Pacey with a question about one of artists on their file, and remembering that there was still a ton of work to do after an exhibition, hers or not, she focused on her job, which mercifully allowed the hours to fly by.

When Jen showed up for lunch, Joey had been surprised to see that it was noon already, and she hurried to finished up a product order form while Jen and Troy bantered and caught up with each other's lives. Bessie came in a few minutes after Joey was finished, excited to see her sister's work and bearing a huge brown bag full of heroes, bagels, cans of soda and iced tea, and several ninety-nine cent bags of chips. The three women and Troy sat in the front of one of the ceiling-high windows that ran the length of the wall on the second floor, put Dave Matthews on the speakers above, and pigged out in the bright winter sunshine, talking and laughing. Joey hadn't had such a good time in a while, and she was disappointed when, after an hour and a half, they parted, Bessie to rush back late, Jen to go shopping, and Joey and Troy back to work.

With reluctance she returned to work, but she was in such a light-hearted mood, what she had to do after work pushed firmly in the back of her mind, that it was quitting time in no time at all.

After she got out of the cab she was sharing with Troy at the garage, she was hit with apprehension. That apprehension grew as she got into her car and drove home in the perpetual Manhattan traffic that she'd gotten used to.

She took a deep breath when she pulled in front of the townhouse. The lights were on both up and downstairs and she looked at the clock on the dashboard. It was around eight-thirty and the girls would either be finishing up their dinner or in the bathtub if Pacey had kept to their regular nighttime rituals.

Chewing absently on her lower lip, Joey tugged her quilted hat lower over her ears and wondered if she should've called first. Deciding that she was just procrastinating, Joey set her jaw, shut off the engine, stepped out of her car and marched up the steps. She faltered at the door, wondering if she should knock or just use her key. She was still teetering on the edge of indecision when the door was yanked open.

Seeing him was like a punch in the stomach. There was no way she could have prepared herself, even if she hadn't been so bent on not thinking about it to try, for the impact of seeing him again. Memories of the their last time together came crowding back and she was flustered, trying to push those painful recollections away as she simultaneously tried to silence her heart and body's yearning for him. She'd kept those feelings of lust and love so stubbornly and determinedly at bay, that they seized the opportunity to catch her off guard and assault her senses, screaming, demanding to know why they'd been kept quiet, demanding they be felt.

"Joey." He said flatly, his achingly familiar blue eyes raking over her with barely concealed contempt. Her heart cried out in protest. If he didn't do anything, a little voice in her head whined plaintively in shame, I did this to him. I made him hate me for no reason.

"Hi." She replied, recovering, fiercely reminding herself that the possibility of him not cheating on her was just that. A possibility. She mustn't let it rule her head. She mustn't let it forget that the idea that he actually did violate the sanctity of their marriage was an even bigger possibility.

"What?" He asked impatiently, ignoring her greeting, giving her no less courtesy than he would a traveling salesman who completely disregarded the joking, but deliberate metal sign beside their door that he bought and insisted on putting up. It read, "We shoot every third solicitor. Of any kind. And the second one just left". They had to take it down every Halloween because the poor kids who understood the sign were afraid to ring the bell. Joey had unconsciously slid her eyes to the sign and was staring blankly at it as she thought about last Halloween. The kids looked so cute in their costumes . . . 

"What do you want, Jo . . . ey?" He asked, slipping. He'd called her 'Jo', Joey caught. The realization that he wasn't exactly as unaffected to see her as he'd like her as well as himself to think made her refocus and relax a little.

"I want to talk to you." She told him. He blinked and then nodded curtly and stepped aside.

"Where are the girls?" She asked him lightly.

"In the kitchen eating," he paused and then added. "I was going up to run their bath when I saw you through the window."

They walked into the kitchen and when Casey and Aliya saw her, they shrieked "Mommy!", scrambled out of their chairs and threw themselves at her. Pacey discreetly left to finish running their baths while they reunited.

Ignoring the fact that his hands were shaking, Pacey twisted the knobs to let the water run and put the stopper in the drain. He poured in a capful of Mr. Bubble and sat back.

Joey. Joey was there. Jesus Christ. The night before, Melanie had been urging him to talk to her but he stubbornly refused. But now, Joey came to him, and he couldn't refuse her. But what was it she wanted? He couldn't forgive her for sleeping with Dawson, and surely she had to know that. He would always love her, he admitted it to himself when he was comforting Casey last night, but he couldn't forgive her. He knew that he wasn't the victim in this case; he knew he was at fault for driving Joey away, for locking her out and not being supportive after L.J. died and the guilt weighed heavily on his conscience, but she said she wanted to talk to him. What did she possibly have to say to him? Maybe, he told himself cynically, Dawson wouldn't divorce Andrea and she figured she might as well come back to him.

He sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. As he sat tensely on the edge of the tub, he thought back to that terrible morning. It was one of the worst days of his life; second only to the day L.J. died and the desolate days following his death. He never thought he could feel something remotely close to that pain, until he walked into that hotel room and all the hopes he harbored of reconciliation was savagely ripped apart, as was his heart.

Morosely, Pacey could see the wedding ring stashed under a cushion of the couch he slept on in his mind's eye. After he left the hotel room, he sat in his car, staring blindly out of the windshield, seeing nothing through his fury and pain and the shameful tears that ran down his face. After a half hour, he'd attempted to drive away, but he couldn't. He couldn't leave.

Despising himself for his weakness, he'd slunk out of the car and searched the parking lot high and low, searching for the ring he had angrily jerked off and thrown. He knew it was pitiful, but he didn't care if Joey and Dawson happened to come out to see him. But they didn't, and he'd found the ring fifteen minutes later. He knelt on the asphalt, staring at the gold wedding band he held in his cupped hand, telling himself to throw it again, this time down the sewer, telling himself that he was less than a man, he was a dog, he was lower than a dog, he was weak, he was pitiful, his was disgraceful. But he didn't throw it again. He shoved it into his pocket, got back into the car, and took off.

Pacey didn't notice if Joey still wore her ring. He was so shocked to see her coming up the walk through the windows by the door, so shocked and so angry and so confused that he didn't think to look. Instead, he put up a barrier of coldness, and hoped that she couldn't see how shaken he was to see her.

But when the bath was full of suds and water and he went back to the kitchen, he did look to see if the ring was still there. It was. It shone as brilliantly as it did on their wedding day, sitting comfortably on her ring finger as if it belonged there, as if everything was still okay. Unaware that he was scowling at the ring, Pacey suggested that Joey give the girls their baths while he stayed and made them coffee.

Neither of them wanted coffee, and they both knew that. Pacey just couldn't bear putting on a show of harmony and happiness for the girls and Joey understood. She felt the same way and was grateful for the extra time needed to adjust to being in his presence again. She slid out of her coat and extended her hands to the girls to lead them upstairs.

After her initial chattiness and happiness at having her home, Casey had lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Joey kept an eye on her while Aliya splashed and played and talked in the water. A few times she just stared searchingly into Joey's eyes with a frown, and when Joey asked her lightly what was wrong, she shook her head and lowered her gaze to the bubbles.

When they were clean, Joey wrapped the girls in big fluffy towels and they tromped to their room. After putting on their pajamas and getting into bed, Joey tucked them in and read them a story. Aliya fell asleep through the middle, and Casey was drifting off towards the end. Joey pressed a kiss to their brows, turned on the nightlight, said goodnight, and as she was leaving, Casey whispered, "Mommy?"

Joey paused in the doorway. "Yes?"

Casey hesitated, licking her pouty little lips and then biting on her lower one. "Just say sorry." She finally said, softly.

As she stared at the five-year-old, love and pride and sadness welled up inside of her. She wasn't going to bother to pretend that she didn't know what Casey was talking about; she wasn't going to insult her like that. "I hope I'll have a reason to." She answered.

Joey wasn't sure if Casey fully understood, but the answer apparently satisfied her because she nodded and closed her eyes. Shutting the lights off and closing the door, Joey took in a breath of air, gathering her strength. This was it.


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Pacey was sitting on a stool at the island counter when Joey walked in. The dinner dishes were washed and put away. The coffee was brewed and two cooling mugs were beside it, but Joey left hers sitting there, like Pacey had.

"I think we should get a few things straight first." Pacey said when Joey slid on to a stool across from him. Joey nodded in agreement. "I assume we're here to clear up a few things before we throw away our marriage?" He looked at Joey for confirmation, and when she nodded again, he continued with a calm control he didn't feel. "Fine. I don't think I need to say we need to be honest. I think that's pretty much a given."

"Complete honesty." Joey gravely concurred.

"Right," Pacey said, rubbing his clammy hands on the thighs of his jeans. "Casey knows something is up, so I think that if things get a little heated, we should go to the den."

"Let's do that now." Joey suggested, knowing that, if this conversation were going to follow the pattern of their last few conversations, it would get out of hand. Pacey nodded and got to his feet. They walked to the den in silence and Pacey closed the door. Joey sat on one end of the couch, and he took a seat on the edge of the sofa.

After a charged silence, Joey cleared her throat and said, "Um . . . I don't know exactly where to start."

"We can start with the obvious." Pacey suggested, a bitter tautness to his tone.

"The obvious?" Joey repeated blankly. She didn't know if he meant the reason why she wanted to talk to him, or if he wanted to discuss about that morning at the motel in Long Island.

Pacey could feel his anger growing again. He didn't even know why. Maybe it was just by looking at her, in the house, in the place where he slept and dreamt tormenting dreams about her, about them together. He didn't know. All he knew was that she was sitting there looking beautiful and hesitant, and he was getting impatient and irritable. "Do I have to spell it out for you?" He asked in annoyance.

"Well, obviously you do, Pacey, which is why I asked," Joey snapped, her own fears and indecision making her cross. Pacey clenched his teeth together and visibly tried to relax himself, while she squeezed her eyes shut and did the same. It already wasn't going well.

"All right," he said tightly. "Since you don't know where to start, I will. I only have one question for you. Why did you do it?"

Thinking he was talking about the divorce, she replied, "Because of what I saw."

Pacey looked perplexed. He clearly didn't expect that answer. His confusion gave way to fury as he remembered Melanie's words, 'Unless you did something to make her sleep with Dawson'. Joey was going to divorce him for something she saw. Joey had been intending going to divorce him over something he didn't do. He couldn't believe it.

"And what exactly did you see?" He mocked, his voice saturated with venom and sarcasm.

"You know what I saw, Pacey," she said evenly, trying in vain not to let his tone provoke her. "Don't make this hard."

"No, I don't know what you saw. What the hell did you see?" He demanded.

Joey angrily leapt up. "Forget it. This is ridiculous. I'm not going to sit here and have you taunt me," she pointed an accusing finger at him. "You said to be honest. I'm trying to be honest and all you're doing is making this hard."

She headed for the door and opened it, but before she could leave, Pacey was behind her. He stretched an arm out and slammed the door back. Joey whipped around, her anger at his audacity and his malice matching his. "No. You're not leaving again. Not this time." He said bitingly.

Joey glowered at him, her hands fixed indignantly on her waist. "Oh I left," Joey admitted heatedly, "but at least I didn't ruin this marriage."

"Spare me," he spit out in disgust. "Don't try to play the victim here, Joey."

"Oh and I suppose I'm the one to blame then, huh?" she mocked, moving away from the door and going across the room. "I'm the one who shut you out. I'm the one who wouldn't utter anything but monosyllabic grunts for weeks. I'm the one who ran away after every argument and stayed out all hours of the night doing God-knows-what. My mistake. I guess you're the victim then, huh, Pacey? Shall I get on my knees and kiss your feet and beg forgiveness?"

Pacey's eyes were narrowed and his arms were crossed over his broad chest. "Well, since we all know that I did that," he drawled acidly, "do you expect me to do it to you?"

"No!" She cried, frustrated.

"Look, I know I wasn't the world's best husband after L.J. died," he went on. "I know that and I'm sorry. But that didn't give you the right to—"

"Didn't give me the 'right'?" she interrupted, shocked at his nerve. "You're not the supreme ruler of this marriage. You can't go around doing anything you want and not expect me to do the same. That changed a long time ago."

"I know that," he said through gritted teeth. "And you know that's not what I meant."

"So why don't you enlighten me, oh great one." She said, throwing up her hands and then crossing them over her own chest, her eyes flashing furiously at him.

Wordlessly, he stared at her, studying her, his face an unveiled mask of repulsion and disdain. "I can't believe you actually think that what I did justifies your actions." He seethed.

"My actions?" she repeated in astonishment. "I'm sorry, Pacey, you'll have to consult your list of grievances and inform me what it was that I did to justify yours."

"Christ, not this again." He rolled his eyes.

"No, not this again," she agreed tartly. "I meant your following actions. Don't be such a smart ass."

"What following actions? I didn't do anything."

"Right. And I'm fucking stupid." She retorted sarcastically.

"I'd be inclined to agree." He jeered nastily.

"How dare you!" She shouted.

"How dare you!" he shot back. "You're the one divorcing me for something I didn't do!"

"And you know this how? You claim not to even know what it is! Give it up Pacey! I caught you!" She screeched wildly.

"Caught me doing what Joey?" he bellowed. "You're the one I caught fuckin' Dawson."

"Fucking Dawson?!" Joey shouted hysterically. There was a moment's silence as she stared at him, thunderstruck. "Are you fucking insane?"

"I guess I'm not the only one who 'saw' something." Pacey replied spitefully, holding his ground.

Joey pressed her fingers hands to her temples and applied pressure. She had a throbbing headache, her voice was sore and so many emotions swirled around inside of her that she wanted to scream. So Jen was right. Pacey did jump to the wrong conclusions. But she was far too infuriated to pacify him. "Well, it would only be fair had I slept with him wouldn't it?" she needled maliciously, her eyes slits of wrath directed at him. "If you got to sleep around, why couldn't I?"

"What?!" Pacey looked astounded. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Joey flipped a hand dismissively and contemptuously at him. "Spare me," Joey said scornfully, throwing his words back at him. "And you would let yourself think I'd do something like that just to make yourself feel better. God, Pacey, grow up. Take responsibility for your actions. You slept around. I didn't."

He'd fallen silent and was just staring at her. "So that's what you caught me doing, huh?" He asked.

Joey knew that he was still angry, but there wasn't a trace of sarcasm in his voice. She continued glaring at him, remaining insolently mute, the anger draining out of her. So he did deny it. But she wasn't going to let herself believe him that easily.

"When?" He prompted.

"It was about a week after I came back from Dawson's. A week after we . . ." she trailed off, not wanting to think about that, knowing that he knew what she meant. She took a deep breath, refusing to shed the tears of frustration and pain that threatened to spill. "I came home, fully intending to make up with you, and I saw you. In here. Sleeping with some girl."

Pacey blinked and shook his head a little. He stared at her for a moment and then began shaking his head vehemently. "Joey, that was just my friend. Melanie. We didn't do anything. I swear it."

When Joey didn't say anything, he explained. "I'd been living with her and her roommate Tara and—"

"You were living with her, Pacey? With two girls?" Joey repeated in shock, feeling betrayed all over again, the tears brimming up in her eyes. Pacey winced. He obviously wished he hadn't said that. Joey blinked quickly, trying not to let him see, but damn her emotions, it couldn't be helped. "How could you do that Pacey?" She demanded, dashing the tears from her face, forcing her voice not to tremble.

"Joey, please listen." He begged achingly. She went silent, sinking down to the sofa, staring down at the thick dark blue carpet, focusing on his words, driving away the image of Pacey living with two girls. He sat down on the couch in the spot she'd vacated and stared beseechingly at her.

"You have to understand. When you ran off to Dawson with Casey and Aliya and left me here, I was miserable. I was worse than miserable, I was a wreck. Everywhere there were memories of L.J., and after you left there were memories of you too. I couldn't take it. I met Melanie shortly after you left. She worked in the diner I went to every time I left the house. She became my friend, Joey; a really good friend, but nothing more. She saw how depressed I was, and she offered I share her apartment. That's all."

"You could've gone to a hotel, Pacey." Joey said dully, not lifting her eyes from the carpet, wrapping her arms around her middle and hunching over at the waist. She began rocking back and forth, wishing that none of this ever happened.

"Hotels are even more depressing. I went to a hotel for a week after one of our fights and half of the time I wanted to kill myself," he told her dismally before he went on. "So I was sleeping on their couch only for a night or two before it was that night you came home. It was raining and we were bored and I came home to get the Monopoly game. That's when I saw you and—"

Joey interrupted him with a sharp nod and a curt, "Uh huh."

He nodded, and took his cue to go on without mentioning it. "Joey, I was so happy that morning. I'd realized how wrong I was in shutting you out and taking my sadness and anger out on you. I was so grateful for the chance that I could apologize and so glad we had a chance to work things out, but when I looked over for you, you weren't there . . . " Pacey trailed off and Joey sadly finished for him.

"I ran off again."

"Yeah." He sighed.

"Pacey," she said, finally looking up at him. "I was just so—it was just so—"

"I know," he interrupted softly, saving her. "You don't have to explain. I understand. Just let me finish." He sighed again and continued. "So when I saw you wasn't there, I was crushed. I went to Bessie's to find out what happened but she said she didn't know where you were. So I decided to respect your wishes. I couldn't go back into our bedroom, not after what happened, so I slept in here. I stayed home from work the next couple of days but you didn't call. I called your job but they said you weren't in. So I just stayed by the phone and slept in the den.

"One day after I came home from work, Melanie showed up. She hates cabs so she walked, and it began raining. She came over because she was worried about me; I'd said I'd be back with the Monopoly game but I didn't come back or call to tell them where I'd gone. So I gave her some dry clothes, and she wanted to know what happened. So I bought some liquor and we got trashed and fell asleep. That's all that happened."

"So why were there clothes on the floor?" Joey asked quietly, her eyes back on the carpet. "And why were you all wrapped up under the covers together?"

Pacey shook his head. "We were drunk. I forgot to take her wet clothes to the dryer. And as for the covers, I don't know. The blanket was down here because I sleep here. After spilling my guts and crying like a baby, I passed out," he admitted. "She must've just lain down next to me and covered us up with the blanket. But I didn't sleep with her, Joey. I could never cheat on you, even if I wanted to, which I never have or would—not knowing how you felt when your father did it to your mom."

Joey nodded slowly. Jen had been one hundred percent correct. And she believed him. She looked up at him and said, "Then you should know that I didn't sleep with Dawson, either."

Pacey was silent for a moment, staring broodingly at the television screen. Then he looked at her. "So why were you in bed together?" He asked.

"Well, after I found you with the girl . . . Melanie? I was heartbroken . . . you know how it feels. So I got back into the car and I just drove. I stopped at this motel and called Dawson. And he came and he comforted me. I felt so horribly, Pacey," Joey told him, shaking her head, staring at him. "I just wanted to forget about it. When I went to Capeside for those two weeks I unloaded everything and felt better. So I wanted to revisit childhood again, but this time I didn't want to unload anymore, I just wanted to forget. So I asked him if we could sleep together, like we used to. Completely platonically, like before. And we did."

Pacey took a deep breath and when he released it his whole body sagged. He propped his elbows up on to his knees and pressed his face into his hands. He believed her. And the feeling of relief was so exquisite that he began to cry.

Seeing him like that, understanding exactly how he felt, Joey's own pent up tears began to flow freely. Tentatively, she got up and walked over to him. He heard her approach, and raised his haunted eyes to hers. He got to his feet and, hesitantly, he held his hand out to her.

Weeping, Joey fell into his strong arms and they locked fiercely around her. Together they stood, crying for the time they wasted being apart, crying for the needless pain they unknowingly caused each other, crying because their own stupidity and stubborn unwillingness to talk almost caused them to lose each other, crying with utter relief.

"I'm so sorry, Jo." Pacey whispered brokenly, holding her closer, rubbing his wet cheek against hers. "God, I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too." She sobbed, pressing her face against his, hugging him around his middle.

Reluctantly, he pulled away from her slightly and took her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. She clasped her hands on to his forearms and sniffled.

When he raised his head he was smiling a little and he used the pads of his thumbs to wipe her tears.

"I love you." He whispered tenderly.

"I love you too, Pace."

And then he slowly kissed her and it was warm and loving and sweet and it felt like home. He released her face and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her body tightly against his and gently parting her lips with his tongue. Dizzily everything else slipped away as she put her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

Her entire being was plunged into awareness as Pacey's hands slid past her waist and, cupping her, nudging her snugly against him. She knew nothing else but the softness of Pacey's lips, the tantalizing thrust of his tongue, the way he felt pressed against her aching need, the way he felt growing harder as their kiss intensified.

Before they could get too out of hand, he lifted his head and looked down at her in wonder. Her lips were swollen and full and her eyes were heavy and languid and full of desire. "Christ." He swore, reverently touching her lips, adoringly stroking her cheek.

"Upstairs." Joey choked out.

He nodded. "Yes."

He opened the door, swept her up into his arms and carried her quickly up the steps, going faster when Joey began to drop soft wet kisses on his neck. The door of the bedroom was pulled to, but not shut and he nudged it open with his knee and set her down. Joey closed and locked the door and as soon as she turned around Pacey reached for her in the darkness.

When they kissed again it was urgently. Kissing her deeply,Pacey slid a hand to her breast and teased her nipple through the red cotton of her shirt, feeling her breasts swell against his hand. He abandoned her lips and tugged the hem of her shirt up. Joey lifted her arms and allowed him to pull the shirt over her head. Before he could take her back into his arms she was doing the same to his. Impatiently he yanked the shirt off.

Pacey unclasped the snap of her bra, pulled it off and bent his head hungrily to her exposed nipple. Joey caught her breath and slid her fingers into his dark hair, holding him to her and arching her back as stabs of pleasure shot through her body, gathering at the juncture of her thighs. She reached for the button of his jeans as he switched to her other breast, lavishing it with attention, swirling his tongue around the hardened nub, flicking at it with the tip of his tongue, closing his mouth around it, sucking hard and gently suckling.

Light-headed with desire, Joey fumbled with his jeans, finally undoing the button and unzipping them. He lifted his lips to her neck and teased the side of her neck with open-mouthed kisses while he undid her jeans and slid them down her hips along with her underwear. She stepped out of them while he kicked his off.

Divesting themselves of the rest of their clothes, Pacey and Joey fell to the bed. He pressed his throbbing hardness against her and kissed her lips hotly, moving his hips in small circles, driving her mad. She didn't need any foreplay; she was warm and soaking wet and she was dangerously close to release, just by his moving against her. "Jo . . ." He whispered desperately, seeking her approval, the tip of his thick arousal against her slick entrance.

She answered by moving her hands to his tight ass, lifting her hips and pushing downward with her hands, her whole body clenching as the blissful pain and the mind-blowing pleasure of his entry flooded her every pore. "Shit." She gasped unable to take the assault after so long.

"Fuck." He breathed, too overcome with the heavenly feeling of being inside of her to move.

Gingerly, he eased out and plunged into her again. He slowly increased the rhythm of his thrusts, his heavy breathing matching her own. She moaned and matched his pace, lost in their lovemaking. He brought her close to climax over and over again, prolonging the act, slowing down when their tempo got too frenzied, until Joey could no longer take it. Whether he sensed this or she told him, Joey didn't know, but he suddenly began going faster, driving to complete the ride this time. Frantic, Joey moaned in abandon, meeting him thrust for thrust, holding him tightly, pushing harder and harder until she skyrocket straight to heaven, exploding with a long, drawn out cry of ecstacy that was muffled against the kiss of his lips on hers, drowned out by his own moan of sheer rapture as he burst deep within her.

Long moments later, Pacey kissed her damp forehead, gathered her into his arms and nuzzled against her. "Mmm . . ." He murmured in satisfaction, sated and happier than he'd been in a long time.

"Pace?" Joey spoke softly.

"Mmm?" He replied, too languid to say anything else.

"We're pregnant."

Pacey blinked and then looked her in the eyes. "How can you tell?" He asked, his voice a tender, low grumble.

"No, silly boy," she said affectionately, grinning at him. "It happened that night. I was going to tell you that earlier but . . . you know, we got side-tracked."

He stared at her. "Are you sure?" He asked gruffly.

"Very sure." She said, awaiting his reaction in anticipation. 

Pacey heaved a sigh and pressed his forehead to hers. Everything was going to be okay. He tenderly kissed her lips and then held her tighter. "Joey . . . I love you . . . I love you so much." He told her achingly.

Joey answered him by kissing him, drawing his lower lip into her mouth and sucking gently. Pacey groaned, rolled on top of her and kissed her hungrily. The night, like their marriage, wasn't over.


	21. Epilogue

Epilogue

Epilogue

David Thomas Witter was an attentive baby. He stayed awake longer than his siblings had when they were newborns, and his round emerald green eyes were always open and focused on whatever he fixed his gaze upon. He was also born with a head full of black curly hair, to the delight of his parents, who hadn't wanted to send pictures of him to relatives until he grew some.

"It'll probably fall out." Joey said in disappointment, softly stroking the baby's silky dark curls as she gazed at him.

"Nah, it won't." Pacey replied, bending down and softly kissing his little forehead.

"I wanna hold him." Aliya piped up.

"No, me."

"Mommy, she's always holding him," Aliya complained. "It's my turn. I wanna hold him."

Pacey looked at both girls. "Mommy's going to hold him for now. He's trying to go some sleep."

Casey frowned. "He was just asleep," she said in annoyance. "Why does he sleep all the time?"

"Because being born is a very tiring process. He's only a day old," Pacey answered her, ruffling her dark hair and grinning at Aliya, who was pouting in defeat. "You'll get to hold him tomorrow. Aliya first, and then Casey."

"Why can't we hold him now?" Casey challenged.

"Because it's almost _your_ bedtime."

Casey's protest was interrupted by the arrival of Bessie, Bodie and Alex. Casey and Aliya grinned and ran to Alex and Bodie. Aliya favored Bodie, while Casey grabbed Alex's hand. "Look, I have a new little brother." She said in excitement, tugging him into the room.

"But we gotta 'shh'," Aliya said, putting a finger to her lips from her new perch in Bodie's arms. "He's gonna take a nap."

Bessie was holding a huge bouquet of flowers and she rushed to Joey's side to coo at the baby whose birth she was unable to witness because they were vacationing in California when Joey went into labor, two weeks ahead of schedule. Pacey relieved her of the bouquet and set it on the table beside the countless others. Troy bought flowers, as did Jen, Jack, Andie, Dawson, Doug, and Gretchen, who were all in town for the occasion. Their marriage counselor, who they'd gone to wanting to make sure their near-divorce would never happen again, also sent over an arrangement, and they were touched. They'd stopped seeing him after three months, but they checked in with him every once in a while. He was a really nice guy, and he helped them work out any lingering resentments.

After the prolonged visit from Bessie, Joey was tired. Casey and Aliya were curled up together in a chair by the window, fast asleep. Baby David was nodding off in his father's arms. Joey leaned contentedly back against the pillows, watching Pacey walk slowly back and forth across the room, rocking the baby from side to side, and murmuring soft words to him.

"I can't believe how happy I am right now." Joey remarked quietly, smiling adoringly at Pacey, who looked up at her and grinned.

"I know." He agreed, gently sitting the baby in the bassinet by the bed. "I couldn't be happier . . . Unless . . ." A dark cloud passed over his face.

"Unless L.J. hadn't died." Joey filled in for him softly, stretching a hand out to him. He took her hand and she pulled him towards her. He settled down on to the bed next to her and drew her into his warm embrace.

"Yeah." Pacey nodded. They shared a moment of shared melancholy and Pacey inhaled deeply.

"He's in good hands now, Pace." Joey soothed him. He nodded again and held her closer.

"I just miss him."

Joey kissed his shoulder caringly. "We all do."

Pacey looked at his daughters and then over at his newborn child. Then he focused on Joey. He raised a hand and slid his fingers into her hair. His Joey. He loved her so much, and never again would he take her and his children for granted. Never again.

Joey pressed her head against his hand, snuggling against him. She was eternally grateful to Jen. Had she not intervened, Joey would have made the biggest mistake of her life. And if Dawson hadn't asked Jen to help her, she wouldn't have intervened at all. Pacey, who had been told of Dawson and Jen's actions, gave Dawson a heartfelt apology. It took a little while, but after Dawson graciously forgave him for beating the shit out of him and believing that he would betray him by sleeping with Joey, they were closer than ever. Pacey asked Dawson to be the baby's godfather and he happily accepted. And Jen was honored to be his godmother.

Joey grinned. They were definitely a family again, and nothing or no one would come between them.

A nurse knocked discreetly on the open door with yet more flowers. She came into the room and handed the bouquet of lilies to Pacey, who had reluctantly disentangled from Joey to see who sent them. "Would you like me to take the baby with me now or should I come back?" The pretty young nurse asked.

Joey smiled at her, glanced at the clock on the wall and shook her head. He'd have to leave in another ten minutes anyway. "You can take him now," she said halfheartedly. "It'll save you a trip."

"How much did he eat?" She asked, consulting Joey's chart. Joey told her and she nodded, satisfied.

"Good." She took the bassinet and headed to the nursery.

Joey looked at Pacey, who was returning from the table where he'd put the flowers. "Who were they from?" Joey asked smiling at him and patting the space beside her. "They're pretty."

"Melanie." He answered, sitting down next to her, carefully searching her face to see any change in expression.

Joey raised an eyebrow up an inch. "That's nice," she said calmly. "How'd she know?"

Some time ago, she'd insisted on meeting Melanie, telling Pacey that she wanted to meet the person who helped him through the hard times. They were a little cool towards each other at first, but were finding it hard to dislike each other.

"The card says that she saw an announcement in the art section of a newspaper." Pacey answered.

"Oh." Joey said, surprised that there was one. Troy must've said something; or maybe not, as Joey was making quite the name for herself in the art world. Either way, Melanie was a nice girl, but she still had lingering feelings for Pacey and Joey could sense it. And although Joey trusted him completely, it prevented her from really warming up to the girl.

"Maybe one day you guys will be great friends. Like Thelma and Louise." Pacey teased, seeing the faint dislike cross her face.

"Don't count on it." Joey snorted.

"I'll stop being her friend if you'd like." He offered, nuzzling against her neck and planting a soft kiss there.

Joey rolled her eyes. "Stop saying that. I know you would. But don't. I don't mind. After all, she's the one who 'continually tried to save our marriage', as you put it." Joey said without a hint of bitterness, but with a slight waver. The kisses Pacey was giving the side of her neck were making her heart beat faster.

"You sure?" He asked, worried, lifting his eyes to hers, not wanting even slightly jeopardize their harmony. "I don't want to cause any problems, Jo."

Joey pretended to glare at him. "Pacey, if you don't shut up and kiss me, _then_ we'll have some problems."

Grinning at her, he bent his head to happily obey her command. "Yes, ma'am."

*~*~*The End*~*~*~

_Author's Note: I just wanted to thank everyone for reading this story. And I have to say a special thank you for everyone who contributed feedback. I really appreciate every word. Thank you so much. _J


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